


Terrible Liar

by SoManyJacks



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Consensual Possession, D/s relationship, Friends to Lovers, Harassment, Humor, M/M, Mostly Cullrian with minor Adoribull, Orgasm Delay, Past Suicide Attempt, Rope Bondage, Sex Before Feels, Slow Burn, Smut, Spanking, canon-typical reference to slavery, implied reference to past non-con threats, past dubious consent, switch!Cullen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 71,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4715960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyJacks/pseuds/SoManyJacks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander Cullen was many things: polite, courteous, and exceedingly handsome. That said, he wasn't quite to Dorian’s taste - too much blushing and naiveté. It would be like having sex with a puppy. Still, he was good for a flirt, no question.</p><p>But that was before Dorian saw a new side to the Commander. Perhaps Cullen commanded in more places than just the battlefield. Only one way to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Here to Make Friends

**Author's Note:**

> More Cullrian, because I am a sucker for punishment. I'll get to the "E" at some point, I promise.

It was amazing how quickly Dorian became adept at dodging spittle. It wasn’t just a matter of dexterity; there were rules to follow, a hierarchy. Obviously the goal was to keep it off one’s face. Anywhere else on the person was slightly easier to ignore, although preferably the offending saliva should land on the ground near one’s feet.

Dorian had gotten quite good at judging whether the Templar in question (and it was always a Templar) merely meant to humiliate, or had a deeper hatred in his or her heart. The former usually aimed for the ground and could be intimidated with words or a well-timed spark in the fingers; the latter aimed for the face, and with those, meek humility was the surest way to avoid escalation.

This particular time, the Tevinter had his mind on his research. He strode through the Skyhold courtyard on his way to the library, not particularly paying attention to his surroundings. When the “Oi! Mage!” reached his ears, he turned without thinking. Even if he hadn’t, the hand on his shoulder would’ve halted his forward progress.

The briefest of glances told him that this Templar was dangerous. He reeked of beer, for one thing, and so did his two compatriots, despite it being only mid-afternoon. The men backed him up to the wall, tucked in a crook between the stairs and some scaffolding, trapping Dorian.

He immediately began to devise an exit strategy. They were in a relatively well-traveled spot in the courtyard; someone would find them in a matter of minutes, no doubt. The fact that the Templars were drunk enough to corner him in such an obvious place could be useful. They weren’t thinking properly, or they’d have picked a better spot. The main one had murder in his eye, but his friends were grinning. Delay, then.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Three on one, eh, gents? Aren’t you going to buy me a drink first?”

One of the friends barked a laugh; the troublesome one slapped the back of his hand across his chest to silence him. “You know better than to let ‘im talk.”

Before Dorian could blink his mouth was covered by the man’s greasy hand. Panic began to grip him. Most just hurled a few insults, talked big, spit at him, and let him on his way. Violence was now becoming a distinct possibility. Dorian steeled himself, drawing in his magic, just in case.

The Templar laughed. “You might have the damn dwarf fooled, maleficar, but not me. I know what you are, you disgusting piece of _shit.”_

At the final invective, the magic oozed out of Dorian, a wash of sickening cold as his mana was disrupted. He’d never felt anything like it. Panic was now a reality as his range of defensive options diminished. That's when the glob of spit landed just above Dorian’s right eye. He could feel it begin to drip; reflexively he squeezed his eyes shut.

The dangerous Templar leaned close. Dorian could feel his beery breath on his cheek. “We know what to do with blood mages, don’t we, lads?”

Before Dorian could calculate how much pain he was likely to have to endure, the man’s body and hand were gone, seemingly yanked away. He opened one eye.

The Iron Bull stood there, with Cadash. Bull had pulled the Templar off Dorian and now held the man by the scruff of the neck, as one would a disobedient dog.

Cadash’s voice was dangerously quiet. “You mind telling me what the problem is, gentlemen?” She shifted her weight to one hip, drawing a dagger and using it to clean her nails.

The Templar struggled in Bull’s grip. The Qunari laughed derisively and lifted him higher.

Commander Cullen came trotting up, followed by a few troops. “Maker’s breath, what’s going on?”

Dorian wiped the spittle from his eye. “Do all Templars make friends this way? I must say I’m not a fan.”

It might’ve been his imagination, but Dorian thought he saw a flicker of anguish on Cullen's face. Then the Commander recovered himself. “Take them to the holding cells. I’ll deal with them later.” He issued the orders over his shoulder. His troops complied at once, leading the errant Templars away.

“You okay, ‘Vint?” Bull asked, tilting his head to regard the mage.

Dorian waved his hand dismissively, then dropped it to his side when he saw it was shaking. Badly. Still, must keep up appearances. “Takes more than that to keep me down.” Thank the Maker, his voice was steadier than his hand.

Cullen's face was grave. “I cannot apologize enough, Dorian,” he said, practically falling over himself. The man’s pale cheeks had a spot of pink. “You have my word, they will be dealt with.” His eyes were brimming with sincerity.

“It’s fine,” Dorian managed a wan smile.

Cadash sheathed her blade. “C’mon, Dorian. Let me buy you a drink.”

“I think I’ll decline,” Dorian said. Now that the encounter was over he felt the adrenaline ebb from his system. Though he desperately wanted a drink, he didn’t want to do it with an audience. That's what the wine in his room was for. “Must go wash. Another time, perhaps.”

He rushed past them, not wanting to see the looks of worry on their faces any longer. It was hard enough to maintain a grip on his emotions. Seeing naked concern for his well-being would no doubt shatter that control. Being a shaky, possibly weeping mess would not positively affect his standing in the Inquisition, he was fairly sure.

***

The following day, Dorian had recovered from his attack. Well, not so much ‘recovered’ as ‘locked the event into the mental strongbox along with all the others’. Anyway, it was no more unpleasant than what he’d gotten used to in Minrathous. Hell, his own father had done far worse, hadn’t he?

So it was with a jaunty step that Dorian made his way from the library to Commander Cullen's office. They had a long-standing arrangement for chess at midday, after all. The handsome blond had found him lounging in the garden a few weeks prior, taking advantage of the warm and bright noonday sun with a book and a bottle. Cullen had falteringly asked him for a game, stammering over the words in an absolutely adorable display. And how could he turn down such a pretty face? The polite Ferelden was exceedingly handsome, though not quite to Dorian’s taste. Too much blushing and naiveté. It would be like having sex with a puppy. Still, he was good for a flirt, no question.

So they played that first game, hardly speaking, too busy concentrating on the dance of the pieces around the tiles. And then another game, the following day, with slightly more conversation. And another. Now they didn’t even arrange it ahead of time. Dorian simply showed up in the garden or Cullen's office. Then they'd play, chatting merrily: Dorian flirting, Cullen deflecting. A perfect arrangement.

Today, the door to Cullen's office was open, and Dorian slowed as he approached.

The Commander was circling the Templar who had spit on Dorian. The man in shackles was pale and sweating, maintaining his gaze firmly in the middle ground. Cullen orbited him like a lion stalking prey. His face was etched with hard lines, his amber eyes glowing with anger.

This was a new side to the Commander. Dorian had become accustomed to the bashful, stammering chess opponent. The man who paced restlessly around the Templar? He _commanded,_ and no mistake. He exuded power, control, and frankly it was more than a little bit sexy.

“Did you really think,” Cullen said, his voice all the more dangerous for being close to a whisper. “Did you really think this is what the Inquisition stands for? Threatening the very man who risked his life to warn us about Corypheus?”

“Ser! No Ser!” the Templar snapped automatically.

Cullen shook his head in disdain. “Yet you spit in his face. I was a Templar for many years, Private. I was in Kinloch Hold. Did they tell you of me, perhaps?”

“Ser! Yes Ser!” The Templar’s voice was now a bit strained.

“Did they tell you that I was trapped by abominations? Left to rot? Left for the demons to feast upon, a sumptuous little morsel?” Cullen snarled.

The Templar didn’t answer.

“It’s true. But I was saved. By a mage. He saved all of Ferelden. And you know what happened after that?”

The Templar, now visibly trembling, shook his head. Dorian halted, not wanting to interrupt.

“I was sent to Kirkwall. You heard about Kirkwall, didn’t you?” Cullen's voice was now velvet.

The Templar nodded, unsure.

“That’s right. The whole city saved, yet again, by a mage. So. Tell me. Did you really think I would look the other way while you assaulted the mage who came to save my life a third time? The mage who risked everything to warn us about Corypheus? Did you really think I would let your crime go unpunished?”

The Templar didn’t answer.

Cullen shook his head. He stopped pacing, his eyes boring into the Templar’s face. “Not good enough. Answer me.”

“No, Ser,” the man whispered.

“I didn’t think so,” Cullen nodded, apparently satisfied. He straightened. “You have proven yourself unworthy for service in Skyhold. You will be sent to patrol the Fallow Mire.” He turned to the soldier standing at attention. “Cut his lyrium rations down to one-quarter. Let him feel the bite.”

The Templar began to gibber in panic, struggling against his captors. Cullen turned his back on the man.

Dorian regarded the prisoner in shock. The man was too panicked to respond to Dorian’s frankly open stare. Apparently lyrium withdrawal was a fate worse than death.

Cullen, finally, caught his eye. His gaze pierced Dorian, surer than one of Sera’s arrows. Dorian felt that look in places he hadn’t known the Commander could reach. His breath caught in his throat.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Dorian. Are you alright?” Though his words were polite, there was still an edge to them, honed as sharp as the blade at his hip. It was enticing, all the more for being so unexpected.

“I... I’m fine, _Commander.”_ Dorian couldn’t help but give the title a bit of of emphasis.

Cullen regarded him carefully. He stalked slowly towards Dorian, one purposeful step after another. His expression did not change, though a nerve twitched in his jaw. The moment lingered and Dorian began to feel a twitching discomfort, as if he should look away, lower his gaze. What in Thedas was happening? Dorian had played this game countless times. If there were a prize to be given out for smoldering glances, he’d be the champion. He was _king_ of eye-fucking. And now Cullen - bashful, blushing, virginal Cullen - was making Dorian quake in his ever-so-stylish boots?

When the Commander crossed the entire distance and stood before Dorian, he paused for a moment, looking the mage up and down. The scrutiny did nothing to reduce the tension.

Cullen spoke. Finally. “Won’t you come in?” he said. “I have a few things I’d like to discuss.”

Dorian found himself complying without question, sitting in the chair across the desk.

Cullen took a seat. “Yesterday. When you were harassed. That wasn’t the first time, was it.” It was less a question than an accusation.

Dorian scoffed. “Of course not,” he said. “This many Templars wandering about without mages to bully? And being a Tevinter on top of it all? I’d be more surprised if it didn’t happen.”

Cullen clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut. He drew in a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was level, but he seemed to be fighting hard to keep it that way.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I’m here to fight Venatori, not to tattle about minor bullying by the hands of a few brutish Templars. Though -- yesterday was a bit worse than normal,” he conceded. “Mostly I just get spit on. He was the first to dispel my magic.” Dorian shuddered. “Horrible feeling.”

“He _what?!?”_ Cullen half-rose from his chair, leaning over the desk, hands planted on the wood. Fury seemed to roll off him in waves.

Dorian actually cringed, more from shock than anything else. He’d never seen Cullen so angry -- it was worse than when he was disciplining the Templar. The man was practically quivering with rage. Strike that -- he actually _was_ shaking. Cullen slammed a fist on the desk, jolting all the parchment and quills. He spun around to face the window, clenching his hands behind his back.

“How often does this happen?” Cullen said, his back to the mage.

Dorian hesitated.

“How. Often.” Cullen repeated, the tone clipped and short.

“Not... every day,” Dorian said tentatively.

Cullen turned slowly, his face still angry. “Don’t lie to me,” he said.

Dorian huffed in frustration. Cullen's anger and concern felt misplaced. Dorian had been dealing with things just fine, thank you very much. Suddenly Dorian was also angry, irrationally so. “Fine. Fine, you want the truth? It happens whenever I’m alone. I’m watched all the time, you know. And not just by the Templars - they’re just the only ones who act on it. Most of the time I stick by Bull or the Chargers, or Varric. Or Inquisitor Cadash, when she’s free. Failing that, I try to stay in busy parts of the keep, like the library. That's why I’m in the garden so much. I only go there because the library clears out at lunchtime. I don’t even like the garden, frankly. All those flowers make my hayfever act up and then I have to drink that dreadful Spindleweed tea just to keep from sneezing all the time. And I hate the taste of Spindleweed. Reminds me of dirt brewed in an old sock.”

By the time he’d finished his tirade, the anger had drained from Cullen's face. The Commander started to laugh, his shoulders shaking under that ridiculous cloak. As quickly as Dorian’s ire had risen, it receded, swept up by the laughter in Cullen's eyes.

Cullen came over to Dorian and knelt beside his chair. “Dorian. Please tell me if it happens again. It’s rather important. I’m - _we’re_ \- trying to build something new here. A place where mages don’t have to live in fear. But I can’t fix it unless I know it’s happening.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” Dorian said, his voice stubborn. “I can take care of myself.”

Cullen nodded. “I’m well aware,” he grinned. “You ran all the way from Redcliffe ahead of an army of mages. I’d say you’re more than capable.”

There was something strange happening inside Dorian’s chest, a kind of throb that didn’t quite match his heartbeat. It seemed to have something to do with the way Cullen was looking at him. A large part of his brain was screaming _this is the part where you say something._ Unfortunately that portion was not responsible for speech; he opened his mouth but no words came out.

The smile slid from Cullen's lips, though a trace remained sparkling in his eyes. “Do I have to _order_ you to do it?” The Commander’s voice had dropped a bit, reminiscent of how he’d addressed the Templar, only absent any anger.

“Ah,” Dorian blinked, struck dumb. “I don’t....” There was something important that he had to say. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was. He huffed, wrenching his eyes shut. It was absolutely impossible that this naive Chantry boy was having such an effect on him. “I just...”

Dorian felt Cullen's gloved hand on his chin, firmly pulling the mage to face him. He opened his eyes.

Cullen tilted his head, amusement creeping into his expression. “Dorian.”

Fasta vass. He was responding far too much to the sound of Cullen's voice. Dorian leapt out of the chair, before his over-eager body betrayed him. He turned his back to Cullen and began to pace, the movement seeming to loosen his tongue. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to help. I do. But you’re not the one being harassed. You don’t know what it’s like. Word gets out the mage is telling tales, and then I’ll be facing retaliation on top of everything else. That's how it works, you know. Trust me, I’ve been dealing with this since I was thirteen. I know what I’m doing.”

Dorian put his hands on his hips, steadying himself. With a sigh, he looked at the ceiling. The day was rapidly devolving into something unpleasant. After a moment, he realized Cullen hadn’t responded.

He turned. Cullen was leaning on his desk, his arms folded. He looked worried. “What do you mean, you’ve been dealing with this since you were thirteen? I thought mages were held in high regard in Tevinter.”

Dorian rubbed his temples. “It’s not that. It’s....” He waved his hands helplessly in the air, shaking his head. This was certainly not something to discuss with the Commander of the Inquisition forces. The weight of it all came crashing down on him. Suddenly he was tired. Exhausted, really. “I’m sorry, Commander. I’m suddenly not feeling my best. You’ll have to excuse me.” Without waiting for a reply, he strode out of the office to his quarters. Their game could wait for another day.

 

 


	2. What You Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull tells Dorian what he's been missing.

The knocking on his door was relentless. Vishante kaffas, didn’t people get the hint around here? “Go away,” Dorian shouted finally. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Dorian, just open the door.” The muffled rumble of Bull’s voice seeped through the wood.

Sighing heavily, Dorian waved at the latch, unhooking it, then pulled his arm, yanking the door inward with his magic. “What do you want?” Dorian groaned into the pillow. “Can’t a man get some rest?”

Bull shut the door behind him. “I came to check up on my fourth-favorite ‘Vint.” Bull said. He sat on the side of the bed without asking.

“Who are the other two?” Dorian said, peeking up at him.

“I do have a life outside of you and Krem, you know.”

“No you don’t,” Dorian said.

“No I don’t,” Bull agreed pleasantly. He sat there, not speaking.

Probably the most shocking thing about joining the Inquisition was Dorian’s friendship with a Qunari. Not just any Qunari, either, but a Ben-Hassrath spy. Still, he found himself in the company of Bull and his Chargers on an almost-daily basis. And he’d come to anticipate Bull’s need to be a mother hen to them all. 

It hadn’t started as friendship. They’d been forced together on a field mission only a few days after they reached Skyhold. Cadash had dragged them to the Fallow Mire. Abyssmal place. And Bull had needled him relentlessly, endless flirtatious teasing that got under Dorian’s skin immediately. He bit his tongue at every remark about polishing his staff or watching Bull bathe. And then finally the Qunari had said something one night at camp about ripping the robes right off him.

That was when Dorian snapped. He advanced on Bull, launching a series of small fireballs which deliberately missed the enormous body by inches, but forced Bull to flinch and retreat. And then it became a chase, Dorian racing after the man, lofting fire as the Bull hooted with laughter. The sound infuriated Dorian all the more.

By the time Dorian had caught him against a rock embankment, Bull’s grin was wide. Dorian didn’t even think. He just stalked up to the Bull, yanked him down by his pauldron, and kissed him. It shut him up, at least, and wiped the stupid grin off his face. For a little while, anyway. 

The grin was very much in appearance later that evening, as they lay recovering in their tent. 

Dorian had expected the man to leave him alone after that first night. Once it was out of his system, Dorian figured Bull would move on to other targets. That it still didn’t seem to be out of either of their systems was a convenient technicality, for them both. Interestingly, they’d become friends, somehow. The mage tried his utmost to avoid wondering if that had been the Bull’s intent all along.

“Well?” Dorian said finally, rolling to his back. 

“Well what? I’m checking on you, remember? This is the part where you lie and say you’re doing great, just like you always do.” Bull said.

Dorian covered his face with a pillow. “Can we take that as written? I’m a bit tired.”

“I know. Cullen came looking for you. He thought he might’ve upset you.” Bull said. 

Dorian emerged from the pillow and leaned up on his elbows. “Really? How odd. Well, he did, technically. But I didn’t think he’d....”

“...be concerned about his friend? You know that's what ‘friend’ means, right?” Bull said. “Come on. It’s almost time for dinner. You can’t sleep all day, you’ll be a wreck tomorrow when we leave for the Emerald Graves.”

“Yes mother,” Dorian mocked. 

Dinner turned into Wicked Grace, which turned into a night in the tavern. After the third of Varric’s stories that he failed to comprehend, Dorian knew he should go to bed. He wasn’t drunk, but the ale had made him feel the fatigue which was dogging him, and the sleepier he got, the harder it was to maintain a facade of good cheer. Now that he’d been forced to confront the exhaustive weight of the constant vigilance he’d maintained since arriving at the Inquisition, it seemed all the more heavy. He just wanted to relax, but he’d settle for sleep.

Dorian stood and bowed floridly. “I believe it is time for me to take my leave,” he said. “My bed beckons.” 

“Aww, c’mon, Sparkler, it’s well before midnight,” Varric protested. 

“Alas, my dwarven friend, I need my beauty rest,” he grinned. “I shall see you anon,” he intoned. The others laughed and toasted him. As soon as he turned away, the smile slid from Dorian’s face. He set his shoulders and walked out, hoping no one would accost him between the tavern and his quarters.

Within seconds, his stomach fell. There were footsteps behind him. He dragged his magic to bear and turned.

It was Bull. Dorian grumbled, quenching the flame which he held in his fist. “Kaffas, man. Don’t sneak up on me. You almost got a faceful of fire.” 

“Sorry,” Bull mumbled. “Dorian. Look, I gotta say it. You can’t keep this up much longer.” He fell in step beside the mage.

Dorian’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t say anything, just dragged one foot in front of the other. Bull, amazingly, said nothing more, but followed him to his quarters. At the door, Dorian’s hands fumbled with the key, missing the lock twice before Bull opened it for him.

Once inside, Dorian waved at the fire, sending it to life. He collapsed, sitting heavily on the bed. “I’m just so  tired,  Bull. I’ve got my guard up all the time.”

“I know,” Bull rumbled. “I’ve been there. Believe me. Seheron was no joke.” 

“I must be the only one in the inner circle who looks forward to field missions,” Dorian sighed. 

“I dunno, Cadash is pretty crazy for ‘em.” Bull said. He laid a huge hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “Dorian. You’ve got friends here. You need to let go a little. Let us help.” 

The laugh that burbled up from Dorian’s throat was bordering on hysterical. “Been a long time since I had more than just Felix. Fasta vass, if my mother could see me now, with a Qunari in my bed, offering me advice about friendship...” He shook his head.

“What happened with Cullen?” Bull asked suddenly.

“Oh, that? Eugh,” Dorian groaned. “He wants me to tell him whenever a Big Bad Templar hurts my precious precious feelings.” 

“Dorian,” Bull chided. “You were in big trouble today. Cole came to find us, you know. It wasn’t just random. Those men were looking for you.”

“Shit,” Dorian hissed. “Bull, I’ll tell you what I told Cullen. I can’t start running to the Commander every time someone looks at me funny. Things are bad enough without facing the retaliation. I’m already terrified about what’s to come when that Templar’s friends find out what happened to him. Thank the Maker we’re heading out tomorrow. Maybe it’ll blow over.”

Bull grunted, considering it. “Maybe. What else?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what else happened with Cullen? That wasn’t it. You’re not telling me everything.” Bull accused.

“No, I am not,” Dorian said pointedly. “Is that some sort of new requirement? ‘Tell the Ben-Hassrath every fleeting thought that passes through one’s head’?”

“No, but you’ll feel better if you tell me,” Bull grinned sweetly. He blinked rapidly. Dorian realized he was attempting to bat his eyelashes. 

Dorian dissolved into helpless laughter, flopping back on the bed and shutting his eyes. “You need to work on your delivery.”

“Fine. I’ll get it out of you eventually, you know.” Bull warned. “You’re not exactly hard to read.”

“Is that so? What am I thinking right now?” Dorian grinned, keeping his eyes shut.

Bull rolled to straddle his narrow hips. “You’re trying to decide whether it’s worth having to requisition Ser Morris for new pillows.” 

“Well if you could keep your damn horns under control, I wouldn’t have to,” Dorian grumbled.

Bull shrugged. “Comes with the territory. It’s the price you pay to ride the Bull.”

“Ugh, enough,” Dorian shook his head, trying to pull the Qunari down to him for a kiss.

As always, Dorian was momentarily taken aback by Bull’s skin. The man was very hot, and the texture was impossibly silken, velveteen, almost like a baby. Well, a baby made of solid muscle, that is. 

And then, of course, there was the familiarity. They’d slept together, what, four, five times? Yet Bull seemed to know exactly what Dorian wanted. Hell, he’d taken the mage apart and put him back together within a matter of minutes, the first time. Even now, the Qunari was murmuring little phrases into Dorian’s neck, telling him how good he tasted, how amazing he felt, how gorgeous he looked. It was always exactly what he wanted. 

Except, tonight, it wasn’t. Dorian tried to ease into the caresses, but he couldn’t. Something was missing.

Bull leaned up, looking at him in curiosity. “I knew I’d get it out of you.”

“What do you mean?” Dorian frowned.

“Cullen. You thinking about that handsome blond?” Bull knelt up casually, apparently unoffended by Dorian's lack of response. 

“What? No,” Dorian protested. “I’m just tired, is all.” 

Bull snorted. “Gimme a break, Dorian. It’s fine, I’m not upset.”

“I’m telling you, nothing happened,” Dorian said, a note of urgency creeping into his voice. He wasn’t sure why it mattered.

“Okay,” Bull conceded. “But maybe you wanted something to? He’s  _ very  _ pretty. I tried to get a taste of that myself, but, well. He’s not into my type, let’s just say.” 

“Exactly. I know he’s not into men. Therefore, I’m not interested. End of story,” Dorian said. 

“What makes you think he’s not into men?” Bull grinned.

“Have you seen the way he blushes and stammers whenever there’s a beautiful woman around? He’s practically the poster boy for shy, chaste, Chantry boy.” Dorian sniffed. 

Bull shook his head. “Boy are you wrong. He likes men, trust me.”

“But you said -”

“I said I’m not his type.” Bull was looking at Dorian as if seeing him for the first time. “Damn. Have I been wrong about you this whole time?” He spoke quietly, as if to himself. He leaned back over Dorian, not speaking, just letting his bulk hover an inch or so above the mage, trapping him on the mattress. Slowly, he gripped Dorian's wrists in his hands, raising them above his head. He held them tightly in one hand, looking at Dorian carefully.

The Tevinter was surprised to find his heart was beating much, much faster. Bull still didn’t speak, but carded his huge fingers through Dorian's hair. He pulled it taut without warning. 

Dorian gave a shocked warble, arching his back. Bull had never done anything like this; he’d always been very gentle, almost to a fault. This was exhilarating. Dorian wanted more. 

Bull, alas, had different ideas. He let go of Dorian. “Damn,” he swore again. “Losing my touch,” he said. “I should’ve known.”

Dorian was blinking rapidly, willing his heart to slow down. “Known what?”

“What you really needed.” Bull rose back up. “Too late now. I make it a policy never to substitute for someone else.” 

“Bull, I really must insist you let me know what the hell you’re talking about.” Dorian frowned. “I’m too tired for games.”

“You really don’t know, do you?” Bull asked. “What I mean is, you want - no, you  _ need  _ \- someone to take control. To take  _ you. _ To tie you up till you beg, then let you twist, helpless. To not let you come until they say, and no sooner. Given you’re harder than you’ve been all night and I’m not even touching you, I’d say I’m right.”

Dorian was wide-eyed, trembling. Bull was right; his cock throbbed, aching. “I’ve never done any of that,” he protested.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t need it.” Bull said. He stood up. “Well, maybe one of the barmaids is still awake. There’s a redhead that's been giving me signals. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Wait, you’re not really going to leave me, are you?” As soon as the words left his lips, Dorian flinched at how needy he sounded.

“Aw, I’m sorry, Dorian. Look. I learned a long time ago, don’t fuck someone who’s thinking about someone else. It’s always trouble. Why don’t you go find Cullen? I’m sure he’d love it if you delivered him such a pretty package.” Bull smirked.

“What? I’ll do no such thing,” Dorian scoffed, trying to muster a bit of haughtiness to his voice.

Bull shook his head. “Suit yourself. You don’t wanna go find him, there’s always your hand,” Bull grinned. And then the Qunari was gone, closing the door quietly behind him.

Dorian flopped back on the bed, reeling. Nothing that had just happened made any sense. Dorian muttered to himself. _ Go find Cullen.  _ Pssh. In the middle of the night, he was supposed to -- what? Just show up at the tower? Even just the thought of it was ridiculous. It would be embarrassing. 

Cullen would no doubt let him in, the man was too polite by half. And then it would be awkward, the blond wiping the sleep from his face, probably clad in simple linen trousers, watching Dorian stutter and apologize. And Cullen would just look at him with those amber eyes, staring intently. And then Dorian would run out of things to say and be standing there, unable to move, locked in that gaze, trembling and hard. Cullen would close the distance between them, standing so near that Dorian could feel his breath on his own lips, just waiting. Patient and stalwart, content to wear down Dorian's resolve until he had no choice but to lean forward, ever so slightly, to brush his lips against Cullen’s, tasting that scar - when had he first noticed it?

With a groan, Dorian realized he was already touching himself absently. Damn and blast. He shrugged his trousers off. Might as well do things properly. 

Somehow he found himself removing his tunic as well; in fact he removed all his clothes and stood in the middle of the room. It was still a bit chilly, and he shivered, not unpleasantly. His eyes fell closed, going back to revisit the scene in his imagination.

Only it wasn’t quite right. Cullen wouldn’t stand there, passive. Surely the man would take one look at Dorian's confused and trembling form and pull him into the tower, locking the door behind him. It was all but a given that the man would circle Dorian, as he had the Templar, though he’d remove Dorian's clothes first. 

Dorian was very slowly sliding his hand up and down his length now, his eyes still closed. He imagined Cullen binding Dorian's hands, slowly and deliberately, letting the rough hemp bite into the mage’s skin just enough to make it impossible to ignore. Cullen would guide the mage to his desk, bending him over so that Dorian's elbows rested on the cool wood. 

A moan escaped Dorian's lips. He needed more than to just stand and imagine it. Opening his eyes, he retrieved the oil from his nightstand. Kneeling at the side of the bed, he reached around with one hand, pushing oil-slicked fingers into himself, imagining they were Cullen's. 

Would he speak? Dorian didn’t know. Perhaps. Perhaps that velvet-and-steel voice would slip around Dorian, telling him all the things Cullen planned to do. Or maybe there would be no speaking. Maybe the only sounds would be Dorian's breath, gasping, and his small groans and whimpers as Cullen added a second, then a third finger. 

Or the loud moan that would break free when Cullen found Dorian's prostate. And then, oh. 

Dorian imagined the slow push of Cullen's cock inside him. Still not speaking, but he could hear the Commander’s breath, intent and heavy. He imagined Cullen thrusting, hard and slow, taking Dorian exactly as he pleased. Cullen's fingers would grip into his hips, leaving bruises.

And then Cullen would lean just exactly the right way, his cock making Dorian groan with pleasure. Dorian wrapped his hand around his cock, pumping as he imagined it. Imagined how the thrusts would increase in pace, Cullen grunting, Dorian's whimpering moans now almost continuous. 

“Fuck,” Dorian said to himself, gasping in effort. He was so close, but the fantasy required him to wait. He eased up on his grip, barely ghosting his fingers over his shaft. In his mind, Cullen put a hand to Dorian's hair, yanking it back, Dorian arching in response. 

One, two huge thrusts, and Cullen would hold still inside him, trembling with effort, right on the edge. And then the Commander would bring his hand around to Dorian's neglected, leaking cock, pumping fast. Dorian would shout from the sensation, Cullen impossibly hard, filling him so completely. 

And then Cullen would speak, the words a silken snarl: “You’re _mine,_ Dorian. Let me feel you come.”

Dorian came then, harder than he had in years, rutting wildly into his hand and the bed, scraping his knees on the floor. It was loud, as well; he came with a shout, unable to still the cry as it tore from him. He knelt there, shivering with aftershocks. 

A wave of guilt hit him. Fasta vass, had he really just gotten himself off while thinking about Cullen? Grumbling curses at himself for his lack of control, Dorian cleaned himself up and poured a nightcap, staring into the flames. Damn. What the hell was he going to do now? Despite Bull’s confidence that Cullen would be interested, Dorian had his doubts. Wouldn’t the man have made some kind of indication? They’d been playing chess almost once a day for, what, five weeks now?

Dorian had never dealt with subtlety. If a man showed interest, and it was mutual, well, there was no need for more. Arrangements would be made, and an assignation enjoyed. Simple as that. And he'd certainly never had sex with a friend. The two categories were never combined.  Bull was the exception, but even then, the sex had come first. 

The longer Dorian stared at the fire, the easier it became to convince himself that this was just a passing attraction. A fluke, nothing more. Despite Bull’s assertion, the man wasn’t right about everything. A few weeks in the Emerald Graves, away from Cullen, and everything would be back to normal. He repeated the thought to himself firmly several times, trying to drown out the rising dread he felt at the prospect of so long away from Skyhold. Away from the sound of ivory pawns sliding along marble tiles, the curve of a scarred lip, the glint of amber in laughing eyes.


	3. Field Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen writes to Dorian in the Emerald Graves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to Han Solo. Boring conversation anyway.

The next morning Dorian was in the courtyard, settling his gear on his horse with the other members of the field expedition, when Cullen strode up to him.

“Ah, Dorian, I’m glad I caught you,” Cullen smiled. 

“What? Why, what’s wrong?” Dorian said, looking around in panic. As if Cullen had any way of knowing how Dorian had spent the previous evening.

Cullen laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. It was all Dorian could do not to wrench his body away; as it was, he flinched visibly at the unexpected touch. Cullen's eyes narrowed in concern. “Are you alright?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be? Perfectly alright. I’m fine, we’re all fine here, now, thank you. How are you?” Dorian said. He tried to lean casually on his horse, but the blasted mare sidestepped, throwing him off balance.

Cullen raised his eyebrow skeptically. “Ahhh... yes. Well. I’ve had some thoughts about what happened yesterday, and about what you said. Spent most of the night thinking about it, to be honest.” His eyes crinkled into a smile that was far too handsome. 

Dorian scowled. “What.” 

“It’s true,” Cullen grinned. “Anyway. I’m putting together some ideas of how we can address the situation. I need to follow up on some things, but I wanted you to know I’m working on it.” He tugged at Dorian's sleeve, leading him a few steps away. “I’ll try to send you some details in a letter, get things moving while you’re gone. I want you to know, I’m taking this very seriously. I apologize that I was so... abrupt with you. I just... it’s very important to me that you’re not afraid, not under my watch.” 

Dorian was dimly aware that he was supposed to be responding somehow. Not merely staring into those amber eyes and thinking about being bound and gagged and sweating and aching and...

“Dorian?” Cullen said. “Is something the matter?”

“What? No, no,” Dorian reassured him, attempting to grin. “And you needn’t trouble yourself on my behalf, Commander. I’m not afraid.”

“Dorian, you’re a terrible liar,” Cullen said, his voice serious. And then he turned to leave in a whirl of maroon cape.

Dorian's companions, being mature and responsible adults, waited until Cullen was out of earshot before they began mocking the mage. Sera dissolved into giggles - well, they were more snorts than giggles. Varric had a wicked grin and was no doubt mentally drafting some reprehensibly smutty scene between Dorian and Cullen to spice up his next opus. And Bull patted his back so hard he almost fell over. “Didn’t take my advice, huh? How’d that hand work out for you?”

The worst, though, was Inquisitor Cadash. She began imitating Dorian, putting on a high-pitched, breathless voice: “I’m fine, we’re all fine here,” she sing-songed. By the time they’d gotten outside the gates, it had evolved into an actual song, one that the other members sang with gusto. “I’m fine, we’re all fine here, how are you?”

Dorian clutched his cloak around his shoulders, grumbling bitterly. It was going to be a long field mission. 

It took ages to reach the forward camp in the Emerald Graves, what with Cadash insisting on stopping along the way to help every bereft nug farmer and soldier looking for blankets. True to his word, Cullen wrote to Dorian. There was a letter waiting for him when they arrived in the Graves. Dorian wasn’t quite sure what to do with it, frankly. He’d been thinking about Cullen practically nonstop since they left. Well, except for the times when they were battling Venatori or demons or Red Templars. Or when Bull and Varric prodded him into a game of cards. Or when Sera pestered him with her nonsensical theories about Magisters. Aside from those times, Cullen weighed heavily in Dorian's thoughts.

He decided to wait to open the letter. Dorian knew that it most likely contained nothing but official Inquisition business. Nothing personal, surely. So he might as well wait until he’d bathed in the stream, and eaten, and tended to his gear, and sat around the campfire for a bit. 

Once all that was taken care of, he retired to his tent and conjured a wisp of light. With a deep breath, he broke the wax seal. 

_ Dorian, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well, or at least, as well as can be expected. Though I do not love being confined by duty to the keep, I do not envy you, facing the hazards of the field. Alas, it seems the entire world holds dangers for you. I would try to ease some of that, if I could.  _

_ I meant what I said. Skyhold is your home, at least for a little while. A man should not feel fear within his own walls. I spent too long being a party to the fear engendered in the Circles. I have left that behind and wish to make amends, starting with you and the other mages at Skyhold. _

_ Your point about retaliation is sound; I apologize for not seeing it sooner. The answer lies not in waiting for the next attack to occur, but in fostering relations between mages and Templars. You are unlike any mage I have ever met, save perhaps the Champion of Kirkwall. You are not a product of our broken Circles, and your spirit remains unbroken, despite the difficulties you’ve faced. I would have you be our ambassador, as it were.  _

_ The Templars require assistance to face the Venatori. Your countrymen fight unlike our own mages, and our losses have been severe. My hope is that you could work directly with some of the high-ranking Templars, men and women hand-picked by me. If you pass along your knowledge, it will foster trust. That trust should, in turn, seep into the ranks. _

_ I have spoken to Ser Barris about this idea. He is a good man, trustworthy, and more than a little curious about the handsome mage he has seen at the side of the Inquisitor. If you can spare the time to reply, I will set things in motion to be ready upon your return.  _

_ Finally, I want to stress that you are under no obligation to assist in this regard. Make no mistake, I realize I am asking you to put your hand directly in the lion’s mouth, so to speak.  _

_ Maker go with you. _

_ Commander Cullen _

Dorian read the letter several times. The twinge of disappointment at the lack of emotional content was immediately dashed away by Dorian's complex series of emotional filters. Any emotion which threatened his equilibrium was counterbalanced by an equal and opposite set of reactions, the grooves of habit shuttling the unwanted feeling into a more acceptable outlet. It was like clockwork, really, an exquisite system that never failed him, not since he’d almost lost himself to despair at eighteen. 

Hence, his disappointment was shut down by cynicism. What had he been expecting? A love letter? Romantic nonsense. He snorted to himself. Still, the letter contained a few phrases that seemed more familiar than professional. His eyes kept darting across the page:  _ I would ease that, if I could.... unlike any mage I’ve ever met.... handsome.... _

The tent flap folded and Bull squatted, crawling into the entrance. “Anything interesting?” He pointed with his chin at the letter. 

Dorian hurriedly folded it. “The Commander wants me to work with some of the higher-ranking Templars, help them to understand Tevinter battlemage tactics. He thinks it will ‘foster relations’ between the mages and Templars.”

Bull grunted. “Good plan. Very good, actually. That why you had to read it a bunch of times?”

“What are you talking about?” Dorian glared at him.

“You’ve been in here over a half-hour, and that letter’s only one page long. Either you’re the world’s slowest-reading mage, or you’ve gone over it a few times.”

Dorian sniffed. “I was merely considering my options.” 

“Uh huh,” Bull grinned. “Well. If you’ve got the thing good and memorized, will you put that damn light out? Some of us need our beauty rest, you know.”

“I hate you,” Dorian narrowed his eyes.

“No you don’t.”

“No I don’t,” Dorian sighed. 

The following day, once they’d returned to camp, Dorian drafted a response to Cullen. He’d mulled the Commander’s proposal over in his head, discussing it with both Bull and Cadash. The Inquisitor had been surprised by the idea. “Cullen wants to what now?” she squinted at Dorian skeptically. 

After he’d explained the concept for the third time, the Inquisitor scratched at her eyebrow. “I dunno. This whole mage and Templar bullshit is so far outta my wheelhouse.  _ Don’t _ say it --” she whirled on Sera.

“Say what?” Sera asked, attempting an innocent smile and failing spectacularly. “That it’s  _ over your head?” _ She erupted into laughter at the tired joke. 

Dorian rolled his eyes. “You were saying?”

Cadash was eyeing Sera. It was unclear if she wanted to slap the elf or kiss her. Perhaps both. “As I was saying, do whatever you want. If you and Cullen think it’ll help, you’ve got my blessing.” 

So Dorian sat at the requisition table and pulled a fresh sheet of parchment to him. 

_ My dear Cullen, _

_ That is a fascinating idea. In all sincerity, it fills me with joy to know there are men like yourself that still hold humanity in such high regard. That you believe the fear and anger carved into the very marrow of the Templar’s bones could ever be reduced by exposure to my inimitable charms? It speaks to the goodness of your heart. I no longer have such hope, though I am glad to see it exists in others.  _

_ I believe your plan offers tactical advantages for the Inquisition. I will do whatever necessary to reduce or eliminate the Venatori threat. My own safety and comfort are of no consequence, and I urge you not to trouble yourself further.   _

_ Please make whatever arrangements are necessary. I have no idea how long the Inquisitor will have us holed up in this Maker-forsaken forest, but if you have more questions, I’d be more than happy to answer them as best I can.  _

_ Yours etc., _

_ Dorian Pavus _

_ P.S. Did you mention the deliciously attractive Ser Barris? I am breathless to make his acquaintance. Please convey my regards. _

Dorian read it through several times, considering. If it were too dry and clinical, surely Cullen would notice. Dorian had been flirting with him nonstop for months. It was easy, back then, knowing he could be outrageous as he liked. Now, however, such sentiment hit a little too close to the bone. He needed distance. Luckily, the written word could be edited, polished to a fine sheen. 

“You really think talking about Barris is gonna throw him off the scent?” Bull said from behind him.

“Vishante kaffas!” Dorian practically leapt out of his skin. “How can you move so quietly? And I’ll thank you not to snoop in my correspondence, thank you very much.”

Bull grinned, showing his teeth. “You’re always forgetting the spy part.”

Dorian hastily folded the letter and sealed it in an envelope. “Because you are the least probable spy in all of Thedas.”

“And that's why I’m soooooo good,” Bull smirked.

Cadash, never being one for halfway measures, tracked down lead after lead in the Emerald Graves. First it was a matter of gaining the trust of some mysterious Orlesian who might or might not be a noble. Then there were Red Templars to track down, and a Chantry sister gone rogue, holed up in a quarry. And then a mansion to ransack. 

After a week, Dorian had a response waiting for him at the camp. This time he did not wait, but broke open the seal straight away.

_ My dear Dorian, _

_ I am glad that the goodness of my heart pleases you, though it pains me to hear that you do not share in my hope for improved conditions in Skyhold. Although that word, “hope” is not quite accurate. It is not so much hope but determination that I hold in my heart. I believe that this approach will garner improvements because I wish to make it so, not because I plan to sit idly by and watch.  _

_ And I would ask that you not downplay your own welfare. The Inquisition owes you a great debt for your service. In such dark times, it is sometimes easy to dismiss personal needs in favor of the greater good. I myself am often guilty of such behavior. Yet needless sacrifice can sometimes cause greater hurt, especially to one's friends. Your suffering would no doubt cause pain beyond measure among those lucky enough to be counted in this group.  _

_ Ser Barris is drawing up a list of battle plans and tactics for your review upon your return. I apologize, but I have not passed along your respects to the man. Given your close friendship with the Iron Bull, I thought perhaps it would be best to leave such matters to your personal attention rather than being passed through an intermediary. However, I have no doubt that he is keenly interested to meet you. It is not every day that a Templar can converse with a mage that does not flinch when spoken to, that offers his opinions freely and without reserve, that is so confident and assured in his manner and magic. I have found it to be quite an experience, one that I have come to value highly, even if your chess game is sadly lacking.  _

_ Best wishes for a speedy return, _

_ Yours,  _

_ Cullen _

“Damn,” Dorian said to himself. “Damn damn damn.” 

“What are you going on about, Sparkler?” Varric said from the other side of the campfire. 

“Nothing,” Dorian said, perhaps a bit too quickly, because the dwarf pursed his lips skeptically. 

The mage didn’t wait for Varric to press the matter. He got up and strode away from the fire, out into the warm dusk. The insult about his chess abilities aside, there was something going on here, something strange. Cullen had left huge gaps between the lines, and the space could be filled by any number of interpretations. Was this a Ferelden thing, perhaps? Obfusticate one’s intent, to the point of rendering it nonsensical? What in hell was Cullen trying to  say?

Whatever it was, it left Dorian feeling unsettled. Especially the part about his suffering causing pain in others. That was drifting far too close to capital F Feelings, and Dorian did not engage with those. He’d learned his lesson with Rilienus. 

Still, he didn’t want Cullen to think Dorian was wrapped up with Bull. And there was no way he’d let such a brazen insult stand. He shoved the letter in his pocket and strode back to compose a reply.

_ Cullen - _

_ Are you  sassing  me? About my chess game, no less? To my recollection, I have won as many games as you, dear sir. Those in glass houses, etc. etc.  _

_ If it will soothe your tender soul, I promise not to throw myself in front of any high dragons. That is the purview of the Iron Bull. Speaking of the man, our friendship is of no concern and should not prevent my acquaintance with Ser Barris, or anyone, for that matter. Though it is true that we were close, the Bull is close with many people, not the least of whom is that saucy redhead at the Rest.  _

_ Should it be of interest, we are making something approaching progress here in the Graves. Yesterday we sacked a delightful summer mansion. Made me miss Tevinter dreadfully. Well, parts of it, anyway. Time and distance from my homeland have made me realize there are some small pleasures to be found even here in the barbaric south. If only everything didn’t smell of mud and dogs and muddy dogs. _

_ It seems my correspondence has taken a turn for the melancholic. Ah well. No doubt Sera will be more than willing to make me the butt of some prank. She is giving me an evil-looking smile. Perhaps there is a nug in my bedroll. Again. _

_ Yours, _

_ Dorian _

Before he could overthink it, he jammed the note in an envelope and sealed it, stuffing it in the pile of other messages to be delivered in the morning. 

“You writin’ the Commander again?” Sera asked, her head tilted to the side. 

Dorian regarded her with suspicion. “It’s no business of yours.”

“Nah, ‘s good,” she said. “The stick up his arse has a stick up its arse. He needs someone like you, someone funny.”

“Oh, I’m funny, am I?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Is this the setup for a joke, or the punchline? I can’t tell.”

Sera grinned and shook her head. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. You take the piss righ’ outta yourself, and us. Even if you use fancy gibberish to do it.”

“What kind of evil magister would I be if I didn’t use fancy gibberish? It’s practically in the job description.” 

Sera cackled with glee. For once, Dorian found himself smiling along with her.

The reply from Cullen came five days later. Cadash raised an eyebrow as she handed Dorian the envelope. “You’re getting almost as much mail as me,” she noted.

“I cannot help it if my epistolary charm is so overwhelming,” he said, ripping into the letter. 

_ Dearest Dorian, _

_ You, my friend, only ever win because you cheat. I have taken the liberty of ordering a copy of Balrun’s Rules of Chess, which will be waiting on your desk when you arrive. It covers such regulations as 1) illegal moves, 2) pretending to remove pieces from the board but adding them back in later, and 3) distracting one’s opponent and moving pieces when he thinks the other is not looking. Although the manner in which you accomplish the third maneuver is not without, shall we say, charm, it is nevertheless cheating.  _

_ It seems we have much to discuss upon your return to Skyhold. I would hear more of the ways in which a distinguished gentleman such as yourself has found any redeeming qualities in your time among us barbaric southerners. I shall endeavor to wash the stench of mud and dogs and muddy dogs from my person before our discussion. I have no wish to offend your finely-honed altus sensibilities. _

_ Yours always,  _

_ Cullen _

_ P.S. As the matter is not of enough urgency to warrant a separate letter, please convey to the Inquisitor that the “I’m Fine, How Are You” song she penned in her last report is not suitable as a marching chant for the troops, as it does not engender a fighting spirit. _

“You tried to get Cullen to make the troops sing the song?” Dorian spluttered, looking up at Cadash in shock. 

She laughed. “It was Sera’s idea. We wanted to see your face when a regiment strode by, singing it. Damn. I guess I should’ve ordered Cullen not to talk about it. I’m not sure he understands how jokes work.”

Dorian groaned. “Fasta vass. I’m going to bed. Do a little reading.”

He did not read, however. Instead, he lay on his bedroll, considering things. On the one hand, it did seem possible that Cullen was, in fact, flirting with him. Though why he chose to start while Dorian was on a field mission was anyone’s guess. But on the other hand, it was also a distinct possibility that he’d offended the man, somehow. The digs about muddy dogs and finely-honed sensibilities could’ve been sarcasm, but they easily could’ve been sincere. The longer he thought about it, the more the latter seemed a the more likely possibility. Everyone knew Cullen didn’t have a sense of humor. He was as wholesome as freshly-baked bread. Dorian was starting to wonder if he’d imagined that alluring aura of command from Cullen. After all, he hadn’t been attracted to the man until that moment.

Damn. He was now all but convinced that he’d offended Cullen. Well, he’d take care of it in the morning. They would be leaving the Emerald Graves in three days. Hopefully an apology would smooth things over before he returned.

Before they set out in the morning, Dorian penned a quick response.

_ Commander Cullen, _

_ Please allow me to offer my most sincere apologies. I appear to offended you. It was never my intention to do so; apparently I overstepped the bounds of familiarity. Easy enough to do, I suppose, when one is responding only to the written word, which can create a false sense of intimacy. However, it was careless of me to slight the south, especially since it must needs be my sanctuary for the time being. I am grateful for all you’ve done to make me feel welcome, and though I do not deserve forgiveness for my thoughtless whining, I hope that you’ll find it in yourself to do so anyway. I hope that our chess games can continue. Although I promise henceforth not to cheat, you may find the resulting lack of challenge boring. If you would prefer to keep things on a professional level, I still look forward to working with you to further the cause of the Inquisition. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Dorian _

He stared at the page for a long minute, reading and re-reading it. The longer he spent reading the words, the worse he felt. Cullen had probably already written him off. Still, an apology was clearly in order. Slowly, and with great care, he folded the letter, sealed it, and left it for the courier.

Three days later, the team finally headed back for the keep. It had become custom for Cadash and her companions to talk about what they were looking forward to the most. The Inquisitor’s answer was always the same: the first three tankards of ale. One to wash away the dust, the next to wash away the worry, and the third to make good company for all that would follow. Varric was looking forward to winning his money back from Josephine at Wicked Grace, and Sera wanted to, quote, chuck some stuff from the roof. Bull got a dreamy look in his eye and muttered something about redheads.

“What about you, Sparkler?”

“A warm drink, a warmer meal, and a hot bath,” he said. He didn’t really mean it, though. Somehow he was thinking of the sound chess pieces made when they slid across the board, and the look of Cullen's gloved hands as he moved them.

“Uh huh,” Bull snorted. “Sure you’re not leaving out a cool blond in there somewhere?”

“Will you please leave off about that?” Dorian snapped. “After that last letter, I’m not even sure the man wants to speak to me again,” he said. The words tumbled from his mouth, and by the shocked silence that fell on the party, Dorian realized he’d revealed too much. 

“Everything alright?” Varric said, his voice shaped by genuine concern.

“Yes. Of course. Why shouldn’t it be?” Without waiting for a response, Dorian urged his mount ahead, away from the sympathetic eyes of his friends.

Two days later, they were halfway back to the keep. They stopped for the night at an Inquisition camp, one of the more permanent stations, with larger tents and a messenger bird exchange. As Dorian dismounted, a scout ran up with a small scroll. “Dispatch for you,” she said.

Cadash’s eyes were wide. “You’re using my ravens now? What the hell, Dorian?”

_ “I’m _ doing no such thing,” he protested. He unfurled the chit of paper.  _ Not angry. Don’t even think of playing by the rules. I won’t have it any other way. See you soon. CSR. _

“Well?” Bull rumbled.

Dorian broke out into a grin. “I’m fine. Isn’t there some ridiculous song to that effect? I feel like I used to hear it all the time.” Dorian tapped his lips with a finger, as if trying to remember.

Cadash was the first to laugh. “I’m fine, we’re all fine here, how are you?” Her voice rang out. This time, Dorian joined in, gladly.


	4. Safe With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian meets Ser Barris, but the night doesn't go as he expects.

“So, you have any plans for tonight?” Bull leered at Dorian as they unsaddled their horses, just arrived back in Skyhold from the Emerald Graves.

“Haven’t we been over this? Warm drink, warmer meal --”

“Yeah yeah, I heard you,” Bull waved his comment away. “You sticking to that story?”

Dorian's voice was artfully casual. “And why shouldn’t I?”

Bull snorted. “You crack me up. Fine. You wanna keep dancing around Cullen, go right ahead. I’d already be in the tower if I were you.”

“If you were me, half the men here would have trouble walking.” Dorian sniffed. That earned him a huge laugh and a heavy-handed pat on the back.

“Well. Maybe I’ll see you later, then,” Bull said. “For your _warm drink.”_ Ignoring Dorian's groan of resignation at the innuendo, Bull sauntered off towards his quarters.

Dorian also made his way through the keep, sticking to well-traveled areas. He cast a low-level barrier spell around himself and held his staff in one hand. It was dusk, and he had no idea who might be waiting for him. By now, word of the Templar’s punishment would’ve spread through the whole of Skyhold. He was wary.

On the landing outside the Great Hall, someone called to him from within the huge doors. He tensed, then relaxed when he realized it was Cullen.

“Dorian! You’ve returned!” The Commander’s smile was warm. He walked to meet the mage, holding his hand out.

Dorian shook it. “Hello, Commander.”

Cullen's smile broadened, though at the same time a question seemed to ghost over his eyes. “So formal,” he said softly.

“Well, you do _command_ _,_ do you not?”

Cullen's eyes widened. “I do, on occasion, serve in that capacity,” Cullen said. His voice was not loud, nor forceful, but it had a steeliness to it, like a sword sheathed in velvet. Cullen tilted his head, looking carefully at Dorian, those eyes once again seeming to pierce.

Something in Dorian quailed at the gaze. He felt... not trapped, exactly, as that implied a lack of desire to be caught. And he wanted nothing more in that moment than to be captured.

The clattering of his staff as it fell from his suddenly loose grip roused Dorian. He bent to pick up the weapon. “Was there something you needed, Comma- Cullen?”

Cullen was still looking at him, but now a hint of a frown was evident. “Dorian, are you maintaining a barrier around yourself? Maker’s breath,” he grimaced. “I can’t believe it’s come to this.” He reached out and stroked the bare edge of the mage’s exposed shoulder with a clinical hand. Dorian was quite proud of the fact that he held perfectly still, neither leaning into the touch nor jerking away; both desires were equally strong.

“You were the one lecturing me about being safe,” Dorian reminded him.

“Yes but --” Whatever Cullen had been about to say, he bit the words back. “Of course. You’re right. Would you like an escort to your quarters? I don’t want you to over-exert yourself after such a long journey.”

Dorian laughed. “It’s fine, Cullen. I’m used to it. I’ve been doing this a long time, you know. At this level I hardly even feel it.”

“Yes. Yes -- of course.”

There was a moment where Dorian expected Cullen to say something else. When no words were forthcoming, he tried to take his leave, only to have the Commander start talking. This happened three more times until they both began to laugh.

Cullen held up a hand. “I made arrangements for you to meet Ser Barris tomorrow at eleven in my office. Perhaps after we can have a game.”

“I don’t know, that doesn’t give me time to study all those complicated rules,” Dorian fretted.

Cullen grinned. “I look forward to your efforts to cheat, then. Until tomorrow.”

Dorian's post-mission routine seemed boring that night. Normally, he holed up in his chambers for at least a day after a field mission, eager to get away from the constant companionship. Tonight, though, he was full of nervous energy and craved the company of others. Time to break the mold. He headed to the Herald’s Rest.

It was crowded. A quick glance reassured Dorian that he was among enough friendly faces to prevent or mitigate any unpleasantness. He ordered a pint of ale from Cabot and made his way to Varric and Cole.

As always, the pale spirit had a slightly vacant expression, listening to things only he could hear above the din of the pub.

“Cole!” Dorian said warmly. “I’m glad to see you. I never thanked you for warning the Inquisitor about those Templars. I might’ve been dead if not for you.”

“They wanted to hurt you. It was wrong. I didn’t want to have to kill them.” Cole said.

“Well, that's good,” Dorian said slowly. “I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

“I see Bull made a new friend,” Varric said, looking across the crowd. Bull did, indeed, have a rather plain, yet buxom woman on his lap. She looked to be about forty, and her hair was a spectacular shade of red. Dorian recognized it as henna. All the rage in Tevinter, especially for those wishing to mask the creep of grey. He had a sudden lump in his throat, seeing her in Bull’s lap. She looked so happy, so shocked at the positive attention. And Bull looked just as pleased. The thing of it was, Dorian knew the man was genuinely happy. Bull loved giving people what they wanted.

“It doesn’t feel real to her,” Cole said. “It feels like a dream, from younger days, before William hurt her. She is wondering when she will wake up.”

“Cole, does Bull know that?” Dorian asked. “He won’t hurt her by accident, will he?”

Cole nodded, then shook his head.

“Care to elaborate, kid?” Varric said.

“He knows about the hurt, he sees it in the lines on her face, the strain in her neck, the shame in her eyes. He doesn’t know what it is, but he knows she will tell him. They always do. And when it is time for goodbye, he will make it so that it is her choice to end things, and she’ll be happy, hopeful, whole.” Cole said.

“Remarkable,” Dorian said.

“He showed you what you need. Why don’t you get it?” Cole said, blinking at Dorian. _“He_ wants it, too. It will make you both happy.”

“Ah, let’s not talk about that, if it’s all the same,” Dorian said, taking a hasty drink from his mug.

A man strode purposefully up to the table and gave a short bow. “Do I have to honor of addressing Dorian Pavus?”

Dressed in a tunic and trousers, the newcomer carried himself with the bearing of a soldier. He had dark skin and hazel eyes; Dorian recognized him at once. “Ser Barris! How lovely to meet you. Please, won’t you join us?”

The man nodded politely and took a chair while Dorian gestured at the barmaid. “I believe we’ll be working together,” the Templar said.

“Yes, Commander Cullen's grand scheme to make people less scared of mages. I think it’s rather sweet. Completely batty, of course, but well-intentioned.” Dorian smiled.

Barris smiled back, and Dorian felt a telltale crackle somewhere in his stomach. Interesting. Maybe Cullen wasn’t exaggerating when he’d said Barris was eager to make his acquaintance. Well well well.

They continued to chat for the next hour. Dorian was delighted to find the man to be quite cultured. At least, for a Ferelden. As the second son of a Bann, Delrin Barris had received an education and training in etiquette. It was a pleasant change from the rough and ready chatter Dorian enjoyed with the inner circle. Not that the mage minded the level of informality, but still, sometimes it was nice to relax into the cushion of polite conversation. It was much nicer when your conversation partner was as handsome as Barris. Dorian spent quite a bit of time trying to decide if you could cut a steak on those cheekbones.

The crowd was thinning out. Dorian took note of how many friendly faces were left. Too few. Bull had no doubt taken the redhead to his quarters, and Varric snuck out ages ago, bored by watching Barris and Dorian chat. Cole... well he could be anywhere. Sera was about, and a few of the Chargers, but they were rapidly falling into their cups. Time for his exit.

“Well, Ser Barris, this has been an unexpected pleasure,” Dorian said sincerely.

“Are you leaving so soon?” Barris’ smile had heat behind it. Dorian found his lips curling in response.

_Bad idea._ The thought came unbidden. Dorian blinked. Normally, he’d take this opportunity as far as it would go, usually to a place involving a bed. But the intrusive thought was correct. He was supposed to be working with the man. Wasn’t there something about professionalism? He’d never quite paid attention to those lessons. And those hazel eyes were still trained on Dorian's....

_Bad. Idea._ The thought actually had a voice behind it, and it wasn’t his. It was Cullen's. Dorian frowned slightly. Something strange was happening.

“Ah, I’m sorry. Been a long day. I... got distracted,” Dorian recovered, lobbing the unspoken compliment _distracted by you_ at Barris.

The knight’s grin indicated he caught the sentiment. “Can I walk you to your quarters, then?”

_No._ “Ah... yes. Why not? I’d be glad of the company.” Dorian was mentally running through all the reasons why it was perfectly fine for this handsome man to walk him to his room. He could use the protection, and last he checked there weren’t any laws against colleagues walking the keep.

Dorian maintained the polite chatter as they wound their way through the hold. The walk took three times as long as it normally did, but finally, Dorian stopped at a wooden door within the stronghold. “Well. Thank you for your company, Ser Barris. This should be... an interesting collaboration.”

“Interesting?” Barris said. “Is that all?”

Dorian started to feel the twinges of panic. The man wanted into his chambers. Hell, he wanted a lot more than that, clearly. And Dorian wanted that as well. Didn’t he? Or not? When had he become so confused about these things? Delicious man, empty bed, what’s the problem? But somewhere in the back of his mind, Cullen's voice was saying _No._

“Well,” Dorian stammered. “One hopes it will be fruitful, as well. I am a tad bit tired of getting spit upon.”

“I see,” Barris smiled. “That does sound unpleasant.” He made no move to leave.

Damn it. Dorian took a deep breath. “So, I’ll... see you in the morning, then?”

“You will,” Barris said. He waited a beat. “But you needn’t wait so long.”

And there it was. Blast it. Dorian let his eyes fall shut briefly before he spoke. “Barris, please believe me when I say that under normal circumstances, you’d already be in this room in some state of undress. But I have to take other matters into account. Perhaps... once things are resolved?” It was vague enough. Maybe the man would think Dorian was talking about their upcoming collaboration.

Barris looked disappointed, but not terribly so. He grinned playfully. “Well that's an excellent incentive to get to work,” he said. “Until tomorrow, then.”

Dorian sighed in relief. “Tomorrow.”

Once inside his room, Dorian collapsed on the bed. How the _hell_ had Cullen gotten so deep into his head? He should be fucking Barris’ brains out right now. Even now, he could hear that _no_ in his head, insistent. And not just no, but _no_ with an echo that rang distantly: _mine._

Dorian jerked up to a sitting position. He strode to the window and craned his neck out. He could just make out Cullen's tower. There was a light on. Well. Decision made. Go, talk to the man, see what his intentions are. That's what adults do, right? Talk to each other?

He was halfway to the tower when he realized how ridiculous he was being. He couldn’t wait twelve hours? Was it really necessary to pester the man in the middle of the night?

With a start, Dorian realized he was talking to himself. Shaking his head sharply to clear his mind, he stopped and took a deep breath. Once he was calm, Dorian turned on his heel and headed back to his chamber.

The door to his room was ajar. Dorian froze. He had definitely closed it, and locked it. The shadows on the opposite wall danced; someone was moving inside.

“I know I saw ‘im leave the Rest with Barris, and I know I saw Barris heading into the barracks,” a low voice growled.

“Well he ain’t here,” another said.

Dorian's mind went blank. He needed to go, to run, but where? His mind clicked, a steady stream of _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,_ as if the gears were stuck.

And then the door opened and a man poked his head into the hallway. Dorian didn’t recognize him. There was a split second to make a decision, and then Dorian ran.

The hallways were narrow and twisting. He’d run in the direction which took him into less-populated parts of the keep, exactly where he didn’t want to be. The door to the battlements loomed. Once he reached the wide open walls, he cast Fade Step once, then again, putting as much distance between himself and his pursuers as possible.

His brain lurched back to life and went into overdrive. He needed a refuge. And a close one. Fade Step drained his mana quickly and he’d just cast it twice in a row. He had no staff and little magic. Dorian was fit and nimble, but not a distance runner. Bull, Cassandra, and Blackwall were too far. He was running in the wrong direction to make it to the Inquisitor. He didn’t know where most of the others slept. The light at the top of Cullen's tower beckoned.

Panting, Dorian almost collapsed at the door, pounding at it with his fist. The men chasing him seemed to melt into the night.

The door was yanked open. “Dorian! What are -”

The mage stumbled inside without waiting for an invitation. “Apologies. Frightfully rude of me. Men, in my quarters. Not for the right reasons.” He put his hands on his knees, panting for breath.

Cullen poked his head out the door. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Of course you don’t!” Dorian snapped. “You think they’d follow me here?” Slowly, he pushed himself to standing, resting his hands on his hips as he gathered his breath.

“How many? Were they Templars?” Cullen was peering out on the battlements.

“Two, maybe three. I don’t know who they were. They weren’t wearing armor.” Dorian said. He could taste iron at the back of his throat.

“I take it they broke in?”

“Of course they broke in!” Dorian snarled. “You think I’m in the habit of letting strangers into my quarters at this hour?”

“No, of course not,” Cullen said calmly, still staring out the door. He seemed utterly unconcerned. In fact he was downright blasé about the whole thing.

Cold snaked through Dorian's belly. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“What?” Cullen snapped around. “No, I mean - yes, of course -”

Panic began to set in as the Commander spluttered vague excuses. Of _course_ he’d say that now. He’d _pretend_ to care about Dorian's welfare when slapped across the face with it. But of course Cullen didn’t care. Not really. How could he? What was there to care about? Dorian was nothing to him.

There was a very small part of Dorian that knew he was being irrational, but he couldn’t seem to stem the tide. Now that he wasn’t running, the roaring static of fear was all he could hear: _you’re not safe, he doesn't believe you, not safe, not here, not anywhere, you’ll never be safe, go, hide, go now._

The tipping point was reached; his legs began to move of their own accord. “I need to go. I apologize for disturbing your rest,” Dorian grunted, stumbling woodenly past Cullen. The man was talking, but he couldn’t focus on the words. The need to leave was overwhelming.

Cullen tried to grasp his arm, but Dorian wrenched out of his grip. If he could make it to the Great Hall, he’d be safe for at least a little while. No one would dare attack him in the open. It wasn’t far. He could make it.

This time Cullen moved to stand in front of Dorian, putting his hands on his shoulders. “Dorian!” Cullen snapped.

Something in his voice got through the static buzzing through Dorian's mind. “What?!?” His voice was louder than he wanted.

“Stop.” Cullen's voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the command. He put a hand on Dorian's cheek, looking into his eyes clinically. “Maker’s breath.”

“I need to go. I just - I need to...” Dorian's voice was verging on the hysterical.

“Dorian. Listen. You’re having a panic attack. If you leave, you’ll put yourself in more danger. Please. Stay. I can keep you safe.” Cullen said.

There was that word. Safe. Dorian began to laugh, and now the hysteria was not a hint but a fact. He opened his mouth to say something but the press of words was so immense that none could fit through his lips. He wrung his hands, wrenching his fingers as if it could help.

Cullen took his hands, covering them in his own. “Just breathe, Dorian. For me. Listen to my voice. This tower is a safe place. Nothing in here can hurt you. You understand?”

The mage’s breath was coming in heaving gasps, somewhere between a sob and a hiccup. “I’m tired,” he whispered. “So tired.”

“I know,” Cullen said. “Believe me, I know. Come on. Do you think you can climb this ladder?”

Dorian looked at the rungs in confusion. “I... I don’t know,” he said, hating himself for being so weak, in front of Cullen, no less. Just another way that he didn’t measure up.

Cullen nodded. “That’s fine. Don’t worry. Here’s what we’re going to do. I want you to stand here, just like this,” he said, positioning Dorian's hands at his sides. “Breathe in for a count of five, and out for a count of six. I’m going up the ladder, and I’ll talk to you the whole way. Will you stay here for a moment?”

Dorian nodded, utterly humiliated at his lack of control. But he was so tired. So tired. Once the burst of motivation to leave had passed, he felt like he was drowning in fatigue.

Cullen scampered up the ladder, speaking calmly the whole time. A hail of blankets and pillows came raining down the hatch, and Cullen slid down a moment later. He guided Dorian near the brazier, which was still putting out a fair amount of heat. Cullen's voice never ceased, though Dorian would never remember what the man was saying. The tone, however, was soothing. Soon the Commander had pulled all the rugs in the room into a pile, then made a nest of blankets and pillows on top of that. He patted it, urging Dorian to lay down. As Dorian sank into the pile, Cullen pulled up a chair and sat in it.

Dorian curled in on himself. Cullen's bare foot was resting on the blankets. Dorian wanted nothing more than to grasp it, to hang on and never let go.

Perhaps Cullen saw him looking at his foot, or maybe not. But suddenly the man was crouching down, curling up behind Dorian, wrapping him tightly with arms and legs, pressing his weight into Dorian's back. Cullen murmured into his ear, the words soothing as sleep stole over him. “Try to sleep. You’re safe, Dorian. I promise you, you’re safe with me.”


	5. A Dream Denied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian faces the aftermath of the attempted attack by the Templars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the updated tags! We won't be getting into the really dark stuff for several chapters, but now I know the shape of it. So heads up, everyone.

Dorian dreamed, as he so often did, of swirling dark water. It eddied around him as he sank, floating down, down, down. The murky bottom was just there -- he could see the mud and slimy rocks -- yet he never reached it. He’d had this dream countless times. It was now so familiar as to come almost as a comfort. Each time he dreamed it, he thought to himself, _this time it’s real. It feels familiar because of all the times I dreamed it, but this time it’s real._

Something was different, though. The water had never been hot or cold or had any properties he could sense, but something was different. A smell. He could smell something. Something like... grass and sawdust? And another scent... sword oil.

The difference was enough to jar him. He realized he was dreaming -- he couldn’t possibly be smelling these things underwater. Shocked into lucidity, he looked up and saw sunlight sparkling on the surface of the water. He’d never looked up before.

With that, the first stage of waking seeped into Dorian's consciousness. Something was wrong. His bed was far too hard, and he could sense quiet movement in the room. Not the sound of someone walking about, but the sound of someone simply existing - breathing, shifting fabric, the turn of a piece of parchment and the scratching of a quill. And there was far too much light in the room. And there it was - the scent of grass, fresh sawdust, sword oil.

_Cullen._

He jerked fully awake, blinking in confusion.

“You’re fine, Dorian,” Cullen's voice said at once. “You’re in my tower.”

Rolling ungracefully in the tangle of blankets and rugs, Dorian faced the source of the voice. Cullen was seated at his desk a few feet away, not looking at him, going over some paperwork.

Dorian didn’t know how to feel about the fact that Cullen hadn’t even turned to look. Part of him was grateful that he didn’t need to expose even more vulnerability to the man, but there was a tiny but vocal part of his hindbrain that was hurt at the lack of apparent interest.

Kaffas. He should say something. But what? Thank you for making me sleep on your floor? Now you know how weak and pathetic I really am? Please don’t tell everyone else that I’m a huge fucking coward? I’ve never felt so safe as when I was in your arms?

Clearly, none of these would work. Time to don the old bravado. It had gotten him through this far in life. Dorian flounced the blankets back in audible frustration, despite wanting to bury himself under the fabric where he could smell nothing but Cullen. “What time is it?” He kept his voice testy. Good way to edge out the neediness which would no doubt creep in otherwise.

“Just past six bells.” Cullen said. “How do you feel?” He turned.

Damn those amber eyes. “Fine,” Dorian lied.

Cullen relaxed his posture just a bit, tilting his head to the side. He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Dorian. When are you going to learn to stop lying to me?” There was that voice, that crackle of command that made something in Dorian's stomach turn to water.

“Sorry, Commander. Just - I don’t know. How I feel.” _About you. About anything._ At least it wasn’t a lie.

“Are you able to tell me what happened last night?” Cullen asked. “I can wait, if you need.”

“No, I can tell you. First, though, sorry about the whole accusing you of not believing me thing.” Dorian grimaced.

“No need,” Cullen said, holding up a hand. “Our minds play tricks on us in that state. Believe me, I know.”

Relieved, Dorian took a deep breath and gave a dry account of the evening. He left out the part about Barris walking him to his chambers - it could hardly be important. And he also glossed over the reason for leaving his chambers in the first place.

Cullen regarded him thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose you got a good look at them....”

Dorian shook his head. “I heard two, but only saw one. Mousy hair, heavy eyebrows, scruffy. Ferelden, basically.”

Cullen tilted his head. “Are we all so indistinguishable, then?” A hint of a smile played around his mouth.

“I assume they broke the mold after you were born, Commander. How many absurdly handsome warriors with the body of a god and the face of an angel does one country need, after all?” The over-the-top flirting came naturally to him, a familiar touchstone in an otherwise out-of-control situation. Dorian clung to it like a lifeline.

“An angel, is it?” Cullen smirked.

Dorian blinked. Whatever Cullen had just done with his lips and eyes was definitely _not_ angelic. Dorian could almost feel the heat roll off the man. “I’ve been known to be mistaken,” Dorian noted.

There was another beat, and then the moment passed. “Well. If you don’t mind, I’d like to accompany you back to your room, take a look around. I think I’ll have Leliana tag along. If you’re feeling up to it, of course. You are free to stay here if you’d prefer.” Cullen said, his voice now matter-of-fact.

Dorian rose. “I’m fine. Really.”

They gathered up the nest of bedding, not making mention of the sleeping arrangements from the previous evening. Cullen began to haul the blankets up the ladder, when Dorian laughed.

“Commander, please. Allow me.” Dorian said. He gestured, and the bedding levitated up through the hatch.

Cullen laughed. “Right. I forget how comfortable you are with magic. It’s... quite something to see.”

“Is it upsetting?” Dorian said, a sinking feeling in his stomach. It had been difficult to get used to having to curtail his magic use in the south. Like having to write with the wrong hand.

“Not at all. It makes me glad,” Cullen said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Not long after, Cullen, Dorian, and Leliana approached the mage’s quarters. The door was still open, the lock forced.

It was a shambles. What few possessions he stored in the room were strewn everywhere. His staff, thankfully, remained untouched under the bed. Most of his clothing was ripped to shreds, books and papers ripped, trampled, covered in candle wax, or burned. And as a final touch, his bed was soaked in urine.

“That’s certainly a new one,” Dorian noted in disgust. “Spit I’m used to. Piss is taking it up a notch.”

“There’s a bit of blood here,” Leliana noted, carefully picking up a shard of broken glass. “Someone may have a fresh wound.”

“If he hasn’t already taken a potion,” Cullen growled.

The spymaster looked at Dorian, a question in her eyes.

It took him a moment to catch her meaning. _“No._ No, absolutely not. Are you insane?” Dorian went out to the hallway to pace.

“What? What is it?” Cullen looked between him and Leliana in confusion.

“She wants me to track the man using his blood.” Dorian said.

“Blood magic,” Cullen said, somehow managing to go even paler than he normally was.

“It would be very effective,” Leliana said, her voice dry.

“And also sign my death warrant.” Dorian fumed. “This whole thing is already an act of retaliation. Next time, they’ll kill me. No doubt as they meant to last night.”

Cullen nodded. “He’s right, Leliana. Keep that,” he said, pointing at the glass with his chin. “If we need to use it later, we can. But there may be another way.”

The Iron Bull came wandering up the corridor. “Dorian! You’re up ear- what’s going on?” His voice went from friendly to deadly in a heartbeat.

“A few gentlemen decided to pay me a visit last night,” Dorian said. “Luckily I wasn’t home. Just managed to get away, actually. Gave me quite a chase.”

Bull immediately strode up to him, putting his hands on the mage’s shoulders. “Are you okay? Don’t bullshit me.”

Dorian looked at Bull. Cullen and Leliana were still picking through the room, but Dorian wasn’t about to break down in front of them. He’d already made a fool of himself in front of Cullen the night before. Instead, he flicked his eyes at the others, then shook his head faintly. Out loud, he said, “I’m perfectly fine Bull, stop your meddling.”

Bull nodded, once. “Hey, I like meddling,” he said aloud. “Red, you want another eye in there?”

Leliana tilted her head in acknowledgement. “It would be most welcome,” she said. “I have been continually impressed with your powers of observation.”

“Shit, Dorian, you really pissed these guys off. Literally.” Bull took a deep breath, sniffing at the ruined mattress, and then in the air. He picked up a few of the ruined items of clothing and examined them, and looked closely at the ruined papers and books. “Did you hear them talking?”

“Yes. They watched me leave the Tavern. They were confused that I wasn’t here,” he said.

Bull nodded. “Well, it’s definitely Templars. I can smell the lyrium in their piss. One is a lefty, and one is a shorter guy, going by his tiny feet. I’d say that one of ‘em was lovers with the guy that got sent away - the one who slashed up the bed and did most of the pissing. He’s your lefty. You can tell by the way he pulled the knife. The other one, the shorty, I’m guessing he’s maybe had a bad experience with blood magic, maybe lost someone, ‘cause he went after the papers and books and magicker crap. He did it with his hands, not a knife.”

Leliana’s eyebrows shot up. “Incredible. Truly. Surely the Maker sent you to us.”

“Don’t know about that, Red.” Bull grinned. “You just keep paying me, is all that matters.”

Cullen sighed. “That’s enough to go on. I’ll look into it. In the meantime, I’ll have Ser Morris assign you new quarters. If that's acceptable?”

Dorian sagged. “Of course. Thank you, Commander.” The prospect of going through his ruined belongings made Dorian slightly sick to his stomach.

Bull put a hand on his upper back, rubbing back and forth. “This’ll keep. Let’s get you some breakfast, and then we’ll get some extra hands to help sort through everything and get you settled in.”

It surprised Dorian that all of the members of the inner circle pitched in to help, even Inquisitor Cadash. Solas and Vivienne mended the clothing and books with magic, while the others fetched and carried and tidied. At first it was a somber proceeding, but that didn’t last. Soon Sera was cracking filthy, nonsensical jokes, Varric told a story about the mage Anders getting propositioned at the brothel in Kirkwall, and Cadash shared a surprisingly detailed way to clean urine-soaked clothing. No one asked why she knew so much about it.

The culmination was, of course, when Cole, bless his innocent soul, held up one of Dorian's adult accoutrements. “Is this candy, made of stone? Do you put it in your mouth?” he asked, looking at the dawnstone plug in confusion.

Dorian managed to get it out of the boy’s hands before he attempted to taste it. Thanks to a merciful Maker, the bell tolled eleven. Dorian thanked everyone profusely and hurried to Cullen's office.

The Commander and Barris were waiting for him. “Ah, Dorian. Good. May I present Ser Barris?” Cullen held his hand out to the Templar. Dorian had to admit, he looked good in uniform.

“We’re already acquainted,” Ser Barris smiled.

Dorian had no wish to recount those particular details to Cullen, so he attempted to brush past that bit. “Good to see you again. And I apologize, gentlemen. I had the entire inner circle helping me clean this morning. Rather difficult to take my leave.”

“Clean what?” Barris said.

“You didn’t tell him?” Dorian looked at Cullen in surprise.

“I thought it best to come from you.”

Dorian took a deep breath and recounted the break-in and chase again, leaving out the part about spending the night in Cullen's office.

Barris frowned. “Apparently I should have stayed with you. None of this would have happened.”

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Stayed?” Cullen's voice had a sharp edge to it. So did his glance, ricocheting between the two men.

“Ah, we met at the Herald’s Rest last evening. Ser Barris was good enough to... walk me to my chambers,” Dorian said, trying to keep his voice bland.

Cullen's frown was slight, but noticeable. “You rather failed to mention that.” Cullen gave a pointed look at Dorian.

“Does it matter?” Dorian shot back, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

Now it was Barris’ turn to volley his gaze. “Ah... So,” he said, attempting to change the subject. “You ran... clearly you found refuge somewhere.”

“He spent the night here,” Cullen said, still looking at Dorian. His face was all hard lines, though it was difficult to tell whether from anger or disappointment or some other emotion Dorian couldn’t identify.

This was beyond ridiculous. “Can we spend less time talking about where I slumbered and get back to the attempted murder? Or is that too much to ask, gentlemen?” Dorian fumed.

Cullen's gaze did not soften, but he turned his attention away from Dorian, at least. “Sister Nightingale is following up on leads,” he said to Barris. “I think we should proceed with the original plan. It’s more important now than ever. If Ser Pavus can show that he is unbowed even in the face of such an attack, he’ll gain the respect of many. If you feel up to it, that is.” The last sentence was addressed somewhere in Dorian's direction.

_Ser Pavus._ It felt like a slap in the face. “Of course,” Dorian nodded, matching Cullen’s expression.

Barris looked apprehensive, but nodded. “If you would accompany me, there are some tactics I’d like to review with you.”

Dorian looked back to Cullen. The man’s face was resolute, a blank mask. Dorian's stomach curdled with a stew of anger and frustration, not to mention a healthy dose of rejection. Of course, now his mind chose to give him a detailed recollection of just how _right_ their bodies felt pressed together last night. How safe and warm he’d felt. Dorian allowed himself two seconds to feel the sear of disappointment. One second to close his eyes, another to breathe. _Push it aside, just like everything else._

“We can wait until another time,” Barris offered. “You’ve been through quite a trauma.”

“No. The Commander is right. The sooner, the better. Trust me, Delrin, I’m stronger than I look. Give me a moment. I’ll meet you outside.”

Barris saluted to Cullen, then strode from the office, closing the door behind him.

“Was there something else?” Cullen asked. His voice was mild, but his expression could’ve been hacked from granite. And though he looked _at_ Dorian, he did not meet the mage’s eyes.

“That’s what I was going to ask you.” Dorian folded his arms, weight resting on one hip.

There was a moment, a second really, when Cullen's expression crumbled. For the briefest instant his face was drawn with... Dorian wasn’t sure, exactly. Anguish perhaps, or maybe regret. Whatever it was, Dorian's chest seemed to explode with warmth, a nearly painful pang. And then it was gone, and the stony mask was back.

Cullen spoke. “I believe the situation is clear. If you’ll excuse me, I have much work to do.”

If calling him Ser Pavus had been a slap in the face, this was Dorian being shoved out the door. “Of course. Commander,” Dorian said with a slight bow.

He turned. The door seemed very far, somehow. It felt like he was walking away from Cullen for an age. Or maybe time was shifting in strange ways. Whatever the phenomena, Dorian had a lifetime to realize Cullen lied the previous evening. There _was_ something in this tower that could hurt him.


	6. The Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gets some surprising news. Bull tries to help, but it turns out he's not always right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a tiny bit of smut...

Perhaps it was Dorian's confusion about the situation that caused him to return to the garden every day at noon, despite the marked lack of the Commander’s presence. Dorian was all but positive that Cullen wouldn’t arrive, that first day after meeting with Barris, and he was right. He waited almost an hour, his eyes skipping over the words in the book he brought for camouflage. Each day, the duration of this waiting period decreased. 

It certainly wasn’t hope that made him return again and again; hopefulness implied he cared one way or the other about it. Which was preposterous; he had too much to worry about without having to chase down over-sensitive Fereldens. No, it was simply a loose end. Dorian wasn’t quite sure what he’d done to upset Cullen; he’d done nothing wrong. He was fairly certain of that much. 

A week had passed, and sure enough, Cullen was not at the chess table when Dorian arrived. However, the Inquisitor was.

“Hello, your worship,” Dorian said respectfully. “Are you meeting someone for a game?”

“Yeah. You,” she said, pointing at the opposite chair.

Dorian sat down. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He began to set up the chess pieces.

She shrugged. “Just wanted to talk. Y’know. You been through a heap of shit lately.”

Dorian summoned a light chuckle from his inexhaustible stores. “It was mostly piss, as I recall.”

Cadash cackled. “Fair enough. Do I go first or what? I don’t really know how to play, to be honest.”

Dorian laughed in earnest this time. “How about we just go to the tavern? I could use a drink.”

“Thank the fucking stone. Yes. Let’s go.”

Cadash insisted on buying Dorian a draught of some horrendous whiskey to start. At least he thought it was whiskey. It was brown, and it burned. Cadash said it would “take the edge off.” Well, it certainly did that. Then there was a tankard of ale, and another shot of whiskey. Then more ale. Dorian began to sense a pattern.

“So,” Cadash said, not looking at him. “You know, you don’t have to stay. I mean, I  _ want  _ you to. Don’t get me wrong. But no one would blame you for leaving.”

Dorian swallowed hard. “Who said anything about leaving?” He swigged a large mouthful of ale. “I won’t let you down.”

“I’m not worried about being let down. Shit, Dorian, they tried to kill you. Twice. Either you’ve got the biggest stones in the keep, or you really have nowhere else to go.”

“Can’t it be both?”

Cadash howled with laughter, slapping him on the back. “That’s what I’m talking about.” She ordered yet another round of whiskey.

“Inquisitor, are you trying to get me totally drunk? I need to -” Dorian hiccupped. “I need to be able to defend myself.”

“Ahhhhh,” she scoffed, handing him a tiny glass. “You’re fine. It’s the middle of the day, and you’re with me. And you’re gonna need it, when I tell you this next thing.”

He frowned. “What’s that?”

“I got a letter. From your father.”

***

The next morning, Dorian squinted at his horse. He was having the damnedest time getting the saddle tightened. Might’ve had something to do with the raging hangover. But it was easier to blame the horse.

“She is scared for you,” Cole whispered to Dorian. “She thinks you smell sick.”

“I  _ am  _ sick,” Dorian clarified. “Horrendously ill, you hear me? You’re very perceptive for a horse,” he yelled, leaning over to address the mare, who whinnied. Dorian squinted up at the sun. “And yet here we are, bright and early, heading to the thriving metropolis that is Redcliffe, to meet the illustrious Pavus family retainer.”

The only saving grace was that Cadash looked as miserable as he did. Her eyes were barely open. Bull had to keep helping her thread the straps through the buckles. “This is gonna be a hell of a trip,” the Qunari muttered.

Of course  _ (of course) _ Bull and Cole insisted on accompanying them. Really, only the Inquisitor and Dorian needed to go, but Bull made some fuss about needing muscle. And Cole just said he was coming. Turned out you couldn’t really argue with Cole. He didn’t understand the concept. It just led to rhetorical knots. 

By late afternoon, Dorian felt almost normal. That wasn’t necessarily a relief, however. Feeling like shit was a pleasant distraction compared to wondering who the retainer was, or what they had to say. The ‘what’ was probably just some version of  _ come home and stop this nonsense; _ Dorian had heard the theme and variations so many times that the song was practically inscribed in his blood. 

But who, now that was a conundrum. A servant, perhaps? Possible. More likely a relative or friend. Halward knew Dorian wasn’t likely to listen to one of the servants. But one of his cousins, perhaps, or an old friend....

“Rilienus, skin tan like fine whiskey, cheekbones shaded, lips curl when he smiles.” Cole spoke suddenly. “He would have said yes,” the boy said, turning his face to Dorian.

Dorian took a deep breath. “I’ll... thank you not to do that again, please.”

“Sorry,” Cole mumbled, chastised.

“It’s okay, Cole. I just need to be alone with my thoughts. When you say them out loud I get confused.” Dorian said gently. It wasn’t the boy’s fault, after all. 

That night they camped outside the ruins of Haven. After a quiet supper, Dorian took to his bed early. He was utterly exhausted.

Bull clambered in just after him. “How you holding up?” 

Dorian gave a hollow laugh.

“That’s what I thought,” Bull sighed. “You wanna tell me? You don’t have to.”

It was tempting. Just unload all his troubles on the Qunari. The man was like a boulder in the ocean. It’d take a lot to wear him down. Still, Dorian couldn’t do that. And he didn’t even know if he wanted to talk. The Templars were bad enough; Cullen's rejection was a whole different level of hurt. And the prospect of dealing with family issues? Dorian shook his head. 

“I figured. Just thought I’d offer. I am gonna insist you come over here, though,” Bull said, holding the edge of his blankets high. 

The sensation of relief at the reassuring, familiar contact with Bull’s skin was almost painful as Dorian scooted next to his huge frame. “Thank you,” he breathed, trying to hold his emotions in check.

“Hey. It’s fine. Dorian, I gotta say. You’re brave as fuck, going through all this,” Bull rumbled.

“I don’t feel brave,” Dorian grumbled. 

“I know. But you are. Not a matter of how you feel - it’s just a fact.” Bull stated.

“Oh, are you the arbiter of bravery now?” Dorian drawled.

“Mm-hmm. Get used to it. I accept bribes, by the way.” Bull said. Dorian could hear, rather than see, the Qunari’s smile.

“I’m afraid I have nothing of value,” Dorian sighed in mock sadness. “Unless you’d be interested in a urine-soaked mattress that's been ripped to shreds?”

Bull laughed, the sound rolling through Dorian. “Not exactly what I had in mind,” he admitted. 

Dorian felt the man’s huge hand draw up his leg, from knee to thigh, then up the mage’s side, tickling his ribcage.

It felt good. Very good. “I thought you had some rule about this,” Dorian said, his breath catching. 

“I do. But every rule has an exception.” Bull said, his breath hot in Dorian's ear. The Qunari’s hips curled into Dorian's ass. “And I think you need a distraction more than I need to follow a bunch of bullshit rules.”

Dorian arched his back in response, grinding against Bull, who was already hardening against him.

Dorian reached up to touch the fabric of the tent. Magic shimmered out from his fingertips and enveloped the cloth, which glowed for a second and then faded.

Bull looked at him quizzically as the light glimmered out to nothing.

“Soundproofing,” Dorian said. 

“Nice,” Bull grinned. “Why didn’t you ever do that before?”

“It goes both ways,” Dorian explained. “Seemed too risky, not being able to hear what was going on outside if we got attacked. But frankly, I’m not sure I care anymore,” Dorian said. “I’m getting used to never being safe. Might as well enjoy myself.”

Bull sighed. Dorian had never heard the man sigh before. It was an incredibly sad sound. “Oh, my brave little ‘Vint,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ll be safe tonight.”

Dorian was glad for the darkness of the tent. He didn’t need Bull to see how wet his eyes were. And then Bull was everywhere. Dorian felt Bull’s huge hand grasp both of his wrists. He was pinned under the huge warrior, and it felt like home. Before Dorian could get too wrapped up in wondering how it would feel to have Cullen hold him down, Bull’s mouth was on his lips, his neck, his eyelids, the shell of his ear. His other hand roved free, pinching at Dorian's nipple till he squealed, then roaming to plunge fingers into Dorian's mouth, then down to stroke his cock.

The sensations were overwhelming. Just as Dorian focused on one thing, Bull would move on. Within an embarrassingly short time, Dorian was moaning in frustration, his cock hard and leaking as he submitted to the Bull’s touch, all thoughts of Cullen silent as his body demanded his full attention 

“This is how it’s going to go,” Bull said into his ear. His hips were rocking into Dorian, insistent. “I’m going to fuck you. Hard. Harder than you’ve ever been fucked. You’re gonna feel me for days,” he drawled, pausing to nip at Dorian's earlobe until he cried out. “That sound good?”

“Yes,” Dorian said. “Fuck, please,  _ yes.” _

“Good,” Bull said. “You need me to stop, you say ‘katoh’. Understand?”

“Katoh,” Dorian repeated carefully. “Yes.” He’d never needed a watchword before - he’d only ever read about the practice. Dorian thought he was desperate for Bull’s cock before. Now? He was starved for it.

Bull shuffled around a bit, and then Dorian felt two things at once: the tip of Bull’s cock pressing at this lips, and the man’s oiled fingers pressing into his ass. Dorian groaned, greedy for all of it. 

Usually Bull took his time getting Dorian ready, taking great care in stretching him gently. Dorian always wanted him to go faster, and now he got his wish. “Fuck,” he groaned as Bull inserted a second finger, pushing insistently inside him, barely giving Dorian a chance to catch up. When a third pressed into him, Dorian arched his head back, keening. 

Bull flipped him over, deftly arranging Dorian's body to all fours. Even just that, being manhandled like a plaything for Bull’s pleasure, sent a shiver through Dorian. He might’ve never realized he wanted... whatever this was, but it was rapidly becoming clear that  _ want  _ was not sufficient to describe his desire. 

And then Bull pressed his cock inside him. Slow, but steady, not pausing until he was fully hilted. He leaned over Dorian's back to murmur in the mage’s ear. “Gonna fuck you now,” he said, rocking back and forth just a bit. “Gonna fuck you so good, Dorian. You come when I tell you to come. Are you ready for that?”

Dorian nodded, eager.

“Mmm, lemme hear you say it.”

“I won’t come until you tell me,” Dorian gasped. “Please.”

“That’s a good start,” Bull chuckled, leaning back. He put one hand on Dorian's shoulder and the other on his hip, and he began to thrust.

Dorian shouted a groan as Bull pounded into him. It was hard and rough, but Bull managed to hit that one perfect spot with each thrust, balancing the sharp pleasure with the burning stretch. The Qunari controlled Dorian's range of motion with his huge hands, taking away all control from the mage. There was nothing to think about, nothing to worry about, no decisions to make at all.

The percussive moans that Dorian made at each thrust eventually resolved into words:  _ please. bull. please. bull. _ Bull’s own breathy gasps became grunts in reply, though his rhythm never faltered. 

Dorian was close, riding that feather-thin line. He’d never come without a hand on his cock before, but it was rapidly closing in on him. Only Bull’s command to wait held him back. 

“Oh,  _ fuck, _ Dorian,” Bull growled. His voice was all ragged edges. “You feel so  _ good.”  _ He pulled Dorian up to a kneeling position, the new angle sending jolts of pleasure through him. Bull reached around, curling his fist around Dorian's straining cock. “I bet you wanna come so bad.”

It was too much. Dorian felt like he was going to shake apart. The effort of holding back the impending orgasm was almost painful. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. He was going to come, and then what? They hadn’t talked about what would happen if Dorian failed. An irrational bolt of fear streaked through him. He began to gibber, almost sobbing in panic.  _ Please Bull please I can’t I can’t pleaseplease I’m going to I’m going to - _

He felt the rumbling chuckle in Bull’s chest before he heard it. “There it is,” Bull’s voice was thick with satisfaction. “Come now.”

Dorian screamed full voice as Bull wrenched the orgasm from him. The Qunari followed seconds later, the pulses melding with the aftershocks that were rocketing through the mage’s now-limp body. 

Things were hazy for a few minutes after that. Bull somehow cleaned Dorian up, then laid him back down, carefully arranging his trembling body on the bedroll. It occurred to him after a moment that he probably shouldn’t still be shaking.

“Dorian,” Bull said finally. “Are you okay?”

It took quite a while to summon the words. “What... what would have happened, if I had failed?”

“Failed? What are you talking about?” Bull said.

“I almost... I didn’t think I would make it. I thought I would... before you said.” Dorian admitted.

“Oh, shit,” Bull said, wiping his face. “I’m sorry, Dorian. Damn. Hey, make some light, okay?”

Dorian obliged, sending a wisp to float above them. He was still shaking; the light which emanated from the magic flickered in response.

Bull looked at Dorian. “I’m sorry. We should’ve talked about that ahead of time. I didn’t think, and that's my fault. I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

“I wasn’t scared, exactly,” Dorian protested. “I just didn’t know what would happen. I didn’t want to....” He stopped himself before he finished the thought.  _ I didn’t want to disappoint you. _

Bull hung his head and scratched at the base of his horns. “Fuck. I really am losing my touch.  _ Nothing  _ would’ve happened, Dorian. It wasn’t  _ possible  _ for you to fail. You’re an open book. I was waiting until I heard that you were close, is all. There’s a point where you think you’re gonna, but you can always go a little past that point. I just wanted you to get there, to make it good for you. Shit, I didn’t want to scare you. Do you want me to sleep in the other tent? I can have Cadash switch if you -”

All this talking was making Dorian feel worse, not better. “Bull, please. I’m not scared of you. If you even breathe of this to Cadash, I’ll set you on fire.”

Bull didn’t look convinced, but he stopped talking, at least. He nodded and leaned down to rest on one elbow. Dorian let the wisp wink out, bathing the tent in darkness once more. Bull pulled Dorian close. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Dorian said. 

“Good.” Bull sighed, relief audible in his voice. 

The unspoken apologies hung heavy in the air. Dorian wasn't quite sure why Bull was so upset, exactly. It wasn't Bull's fault that Dorian was so naive. He was painfully aware of how ridiculous he sounded earlier. Now, in the calm that followed, Dorian realized that of course he needn’t have worried. It was silly of him, really. He was supposed to be a man of the world, after all.

“No.” Bull rumbled. “Dorian. Stop it. You’re blaming yourself. I can feel you tensing up.”

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” Dorian knew it wouldn't be convincing, but he had some pride.

Bull growled. “Dammit. I am such an asshole. Trying to help, and I made it worse.”

Dorian almost laughed. “Just don't get mad at me for no reason, and we'll be fine. I already lost one friend this week. I'm not looking to lose another."

“What?”

“Cullen. I haven’t seen him in a week. He's...  _ upset  _ with me.” Dorian sighed. 

_ “What? _ Why?”

Dorian shrugged. “When he found out that Ser Barris walked me to my quarters, he just... shut down completely. Ha! I should’ve slept with Barris when I had the chance.” Dorian laughed. “Can you imagine the looks on the Templar’s faces if they’d broken in on us?”

Bull did not laugh. “Are you sure he’s angry?” 

Dorian sighed. He shouldn’t have mentioned it. “As sure as I can be without him actually saying the words ‘I’m angry at you’, yes. At the very least I let him down. I seem to be quite good at that, disappointing people. But of course, when one is as handsome and talented and brilliant as I am, being held to an impossible standard is inevitable.” 

The silence that followed seemed to suck the air out of the tent. Bull tightened his arms around Dorian. “Is that what this is about? You thought I was gonna be disappointed in you, before?”

Dorian didn’t say anything. 

Bull stroked his hair, his touch so gentle it almost hurt. “Fuck, Dorian. That's not ever gonna happen. There is literally no scenario that involves you and me and being naked that will ever in any way disappoint me. You’re fucking incredible. Do you understand?”

Dorian sighed. Of course Bull would say that. This is why Dorian should have known better than to admit it in the first place. Given the choice, he'd rather avoid heaping pity on top of everything else. 

“I asked you a question, ‘Vint,” Bull growled.

“I understand.” Dorian grumbled.

“Dorian, you are the world’s worst liar. And you know what else? I bet you’re wrong about Cullen. I know you think you know everything, but just listen. The man used to be a Templar. Mages have always been off-limits. Plus the guy’s just naturally shy. You think it’s possible he was upset because he thought you got tired of waiting for him to make a move? All those letters, all those chess games, and here comes Barris, suave as fuck, buys you a few drinks and almost gets into your pants. Cullen probably just thinks he blew it.”

The squirming, gnawing sensation started out in Dorian's stomach, but quickly grew into his chest cavity and extremities. With a jolt, he realized it was hope. “Vishante kaffas,” he whispered. 

“Yeah. That's what I thought. Listen, Dorian. I meant to wait until things were over to tell you this. But I gotta tell you now. When this shit’s over with, if you’re at loose ends, there’s always a place in the Chargers for you. I’ve never seen a braver, more talented battlemage, and my boys trust you. I know you’d be slumming it with us, but I get the feeling you might not have a place to go. I just want you to know, you do. It’s an honor to fight next to you, and if there’s any way -”

“Bull,” Dorian gasped, blinking rapidly.

“What?”

“Shut up. Please.” Dorian said, clutching at the Qunari’s huge, overly-warm chest. “I make it a point not to cry after sex. You’re ruining it.”

Bull laughed, deep in his chest. “Fair enough.”


	7. Pieces of the Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian returns from Redcliffe and has a little chat with Cullen.

The day after Dorian met with Halward, the Inquisition party packed up for the return trip to Skyhold. They were not quite as hungover as when they’d set out, but it was a close second, thanks to the impressive quantity of fine wines and Tevinter delicacies Lord Pavus left at the Gull and Lantern in his wake. Would’ve been a crime to let it all go to waste.

Cadash extended the journey by a few days, stopping along the way to put flowers on a dead elf’s shrine and bully a druffalo into returning home. At first, Dorian was glad of the distraction. Concentrating on such menial tasks gave him something else to think about besides his father. When Halward falteringly asked for forgiveness, Dorian felt a spike of satisfaction. This quickly evaporated when he realized his father clearly expected his son to accept the meager apology. As if talking for ten minutes would make up for the past fifteen years.

Still, after a few days, the delay chafed. Dorian was eager to get back to Skyhold. This was partially motivated by a desire to put as much distance between himself and recent events as possible. But he’d also made the decision to seek out Cullen, try to... well, he wasn’t sure. Talk things out, at the very least.

It was early evening when they finally returned. Dorian calmly unsaddled his horse, dropped his pack off in his room, and made his way to Cullen's office. It took a massive amount of effort, but he was able to keep his mind clear and calm. The decision had been made. Time to get it over with.

He knocked firmly on the door. It opened a few moments later. Cullen was not in his armor, but a tunic and trousers. His feet were bare, his eyes a bit wild.

“Dorian!” he exclaimed in surprise. “You’ve returned.”

“I have indeed, Commander. I thought we might discuss a few things.” Dorian said.

Cullen blinked. He did not hold the door open. A tendril of panic began to take root in Dorian's chest. With a sudden, sickening clarity, Dorian began to suspect he’d made a mistake.

“Ah,” Cullen stammered. “Now’s not the best time, actually.”

Then Dorian heard it - the creak of the ladder. Cullen wasn’t alone. There was someone upstairs. Where the bed was located.

All of Dorian's carefully prepared phrases splintered. It had taken so much to even get him to knock on the door. He’d spent a fortnight pretending he didn’t care. Even admitting that much was difficult. To open himself to even the prospect of additional rejection was counter to all of Dorian's instincts. Bull and Cadash had given him copious amounts of encouragement, strengthening his resolve. The slight creak of the ladder not only undid all of that effort, it cracked the dam which held back the torrent of doubt and insecurity that threatened to drown him.

Dorian raised his chin. “Clearly not. I see I misunderstood the situation. I won’t trouble you further, I assure you.” He held his head high while the whirlpool twisted around him, dragging him down. _Of course Cullen isn’t alone. Why should he be? We haven’t even spoken in weeks. Foolish, to allow Bull to convince me there was hope. I was right all along. The whole thing had been in my head. Cullen wasn’t interested; he’d never been interested and he never would be. Foolish to believe it was even possible._

Before he sank completely under the surface, Dorian turned and began to walk back to his rooms.

“Dorian!” Cullen called after him. “Dorian, wait!”

Dorian halted his steps but did not turn. He heard Cullen's bare feet running up behind him. The Commander spun him around. “It’s not what you think,” he said, holding Dorian by the arms.

Over Cullen's shoulder, Dorian saw a healer make a discreet exit from the office. Dorian swayed on his feet with relief. “Are you... ill?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Cullen said. “I can’t discuss it, I’m afraid.”

Dorian was caught exactly between laughter and tears. “Some other time, then,” he said.

“Wait. I want to speak with you. Just... give me a half hour. I need to... there are some things I need to take care of. Have you eaten?” Cullen's voice was slightly desperate, and he still clutched Dorian's shoulders.

“I have not,” Dorian admitted. “And I’ll give you an hour. If we’re to dine, I need to bathe. Demon ichor does tend to get lodged in the most embarrassing places, you know.”

Cullen laughed, and Dorian felt something in his chest break loose; Maker, but he’d missed that sound. “Don’t I know it. An hour, then. I’ll meet you at your quarters.”

Dorian nodded as Cullen let go of him. He began to turn back, but Cullen spoke again. “I... I’m glad to see you.” A tentative smile stole across those delicious lips.

Dorian suspected his answering smile was bordering on gleaming. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

Despite his expertise in time magic, Dorian would never know how the same hour could seem to take forever and yet pass in a blink. Possibly it had something to do with the way his brain seemed to be locked into overdrive with anticipation. As deeply and quickly he’d sunk into disappointment, he now seemed to float an inch above the ground. He was just buckling his tunic, the third he’d tried on after his bath, when there was a knock at the door.

“It’s me, Dorian,” Cullen's voice said.

Dorian unlatched the door with a wave of his hand. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he drawled over his shoulder.

“It’s tiny,” Cullen frowned.

“I prefer ‘cozy’,” Dorian said, sitting on the bed to pull on his boots.

The Commander’s sigh was resigned. “I’m so sorry, Dorian. You shouldn’t have to put up with this. You don’t even have a proper window,” he said, scowling at the arrow slit, which had been covered poorly by a heavy iron grate bolted to the wall. “I failed my duties, and you’re paying the price.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Dorian frowned.

Cullen waved at the minuscule room. “If I’d been doing my job, you’d still be in your old quarters, as befitting your station within the Inquisition. This is barely better than the prison cells.”

“Said the man who sleeps under a hole in the roof,” Dorian said. “Regardless, how could you possibly have prevented it? The important thing is that you’re trying to make things right. And perhaps it's too soon to tell, but your plan seems to be having an effect. I wasn't spit on the whole week before I left.” Dorian decided not to mention that the looks of open hostility had not decreased. Why burden the man, after all?

Cullen was still shaking his head, unmoved by Dorian's attempt at humor. “I could have done a better job screening our recruits. I could’ve anticipated the retaliation. I spent my life around Templars. I know how they think.”

“Commander,” Dorian chided him. “Please. I think that's enough self-flagellation for one night, don’t you?”

The room was, indeed, very small. As such, when Dorian rose from the bed, he found himself standing quite close to Cullen. He shifted forward slightly as he settled his feet into his boots, and he grasped Cullen's shoulder for balance.

And then Cullen kissed him.

There was no hesitation. It felt inevitable, like sunset or the tides, as if the entire universe had conspired to create that exact moment, which could only lead to the inexorable conclusion of their lips pressing together.

It must have been so. How else to explain how right it felt? How perfectly natural, like a puzzle piece snapping into place? What other reason could there be for the way Cullen's lips parted, just enough to allow Dorian's tentative searching tongue? Or how, when Dorian gave a relieved moan, everything changed again?

Because in an instant the kiss went from a thing of sweetness to searing heat. Cullen spun them both, slamming Dorian up against the stone wall, knocking the air from the mage’s lungs into his own, grasping Dorian's cheeks with his hands as he claimed the mage’s mouth. Dorian fought for breath as he felt Cullen buck his hips, pressing eagerly into him.

Cullen's hands roamed, one wrapping fistfulls of Dorian's hair, the other pulling the mage’s ass into him. When Cullen's teeth roved to Dorian's jawline, biting the sensitive skin just beneath his ear, the mage gave a desperate groan.

The sound seemed to snap Cullen back to reality. “Maker’s breath,” he said. “I apologize. I should not presume to be so forward.”

Dorian's laugh was breathy and low. “You didn’t hurt me, if that's what you’re worried about, Commander. Quite the contrary.”

Cullen swallowed hard, a spark of heat lighting up his eyes at Dorian's use of his title. “Good to know.” He stared at Dorian a second longer. “We... we should eat. Before the night gets completely away from us.”

“Must we?” Dorian hadn’t intended his voice to be a needy whine. Given the effect it had on Cullen, perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing. The man once again crushed him on the wall, kissing his breath away. This time he groaned, pinning Dorian's hands to the rough stone.

“I fear we must,” Cullen said, punctuating his remark with a roll of his hips. “We have much to discuss, and if we stay, I’ll make you mine right up against this wall, here and now.”

Dorian moaned again, grinding against Cullen. “Ah, but what if I’ve been dreaming of just that for weeks?”

Cullen growled. “Then another two hours of waiting will only heighten the anticipation. And given the fact that you’ve questioned me twice, I’d say it’s quite important we speak about things first.”

Dorian gasped, his eyes wide. The implication of Cullen's words were not lost on him. That, and the way Cullen's hands tightened around his wrists, sent the blood rushing to his cock quicker than anything they’d done so far. Cullen clearly felt the twitch, because he gave a devilish half-smile. He leaned in, giving Dorian one more kiss, gentle and quick, before stepping away.

Surprisingly, Cullen did not lead Dorian to the dining hall, or even the tavern. Instead they went to the kitchens. A servant handed Cullen a large basket from the back door, and then they headed to a little-used part of the keep.

Renovations were still underway, so they had to clamber over a few piles of dusty rubble and squared timbers. They emerged into an unused hallway. There was a large hole in the wall and roof at the far end, leaving the view open to the Frostbacks. The moon was just rising into the violet evening sky, peeking over the silver-tinged slopes.

“Cullen, this is... this is gorgeous,” Dorian said, looking around in wonder. "The view is spectacular."

Cullen set down the basket and busied himself lighting a fire in the corner, where the walls formed a natural chimney. There were a few squared-off stones that had been dragged to form seats and a low table, draped with rugs and bits of old furs to stave off the chill. “Isn’t it? It’ll be a shame once the repairs are completed. I find myself coming here often. I think I’m the only one aside from Gatsi that knows about it.” Cullen lit the kindling, and soon there was a merry little fire bathing the room in a rosy glow. “Damn. I meant to grab some lanterns. It’ll be a bit dim, I’m afraid.”

Dorian snorted with laughter. “You... are joking, right?”

When Cullen shot him a confused glance, Dorian raised two fists in the air. He flicked his fingers outward, and tiny golden sparks flew out from his fingertips. These each grew in intensity to approximate the light of a single candle flame, swirling through the air like snowflakes caught in a gust. “Would you prefer a different color? I don’t tend to look good in blue,” Dorian noted.

Now it was Cullen's turn to look around in wonder. “Maker, they’re _beautiful,”_ he breathed. Tentatively, he touched one with a finger. It exploded in a shower of light with a small ‘pop’. He gasped. “By Andraste,” he blinked. “Can you make more?”

This time, Dorian made the wisps into shining bubbles, rather than sparks. These floated at a different rate, slower, bobbing gently. When one of the sparks swirled too near, it would get caught in the bubble, the tiny light trapped within the phosphorescent shine. Dorian grinned to see the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces laugh like a child, his face illuminated by the magic.

“Cullen, I must insist that you stop being so absolutely delightful,” Dorian said. “At once. Have you never seen mage wisps before? Surely this simple thing must be known in the Circles.”

Cullen shook his head. “Not like this. It was always a blue-white flame, for the statues of Andraste.”

Dorian sniffed. “How utterly joyless.”

At that, Cullen turned to look at him, as if realizing something for the first time. “Yes. Yes, you’re absolutely right. There was no joy in magic, not in any Circle I ever served. A shame. Had we known, maybe things.... No matter. Please. Sit. Before our food gets cold.”

An array of treasures were unbundled from the basket: a roast capon, a small meat pie, dried fruit, a loaf of bread and fresh butter. “My word, Cullen. I should have you procure all my meals.” Dorian looked over the makeshift table.

Cullen grinned and handed him a bottle. “If you would do the honors.”

Dorian uncorked the mead as the Commander explained. “One of the cooks owes me a favor. I’d say he’s more than repaid his debt.”

“So,” Dorian said, after a few bites. “This is not what I was picturing when you said you wanted to eat dinner.”

“No?” Cullen smiled, taking a sip from his goblet.

“I was rather assuming you meant turnip stew in the dining hall. This... is a bit... romantic.” He looked around the room.

“That wasn’t my intention,” he admitted.  

_Damn._ “And what was your intention?”

“I wanted some privacy. To apologize,” Cullen said. “I... overreacted. Before you left.”

“You mean, about Barris?” Dorian clarified.

“Yes,” Cullen hung his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was so disappointed in myself, thinking that you’d pursued things with him. As you had - _have_ \- every right to do. I behaved like an ass.”

Dorian huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Maker take it all, Bull was right. I thought you were angry at me, or that I’d let you down.”

“What do you mean, let me down?” Cullen looked taken aback. “I was the one who behaved badly.”

Slicing into the meat pie carefully, Dorian grinned, all teeth. “Oh, but I _excel_ at being a disappointment to others. I’ve had a lifetime of practice, you see. Whenever I think perhaps I’m losing my touch, I just remember my father’s face. And now that's even easier, since he was at Redcliffe.”

Cullen looked surprised. “What? I was led to believe it was a retainer that was meeting you.”

“No secrets in Skyhold, I see. No, it was dear papa,” Dorian sighed. “Come to try to lure me home.”

“It’s not my place to ask, but...”

“What happened? My father doesn’t approve of my ‘choices’ as he calls them. In intimate companions.” Dorian gave Cullen a pointed look.

“What? Really? Is... that a Tevinter thing?”

“It is if you’re meant to fulfill your intended role as breeding stock for the perfect mage. I was supposed to spend the rest of my life screaming on the inside, locked in a loveless marriage to a woman who would no doubt come to loathe me. When I refused, my father used every resource at his disposal to change my mind. Eventually he fell back on what he used to call ‘the resort of the weak mind’. He didn’t try to change my mind. He... wanted to change _me.”_

Cullen's face had gone completely white. Even his hair seemed to get lighter. “He was going to use blood magic?”

Dorian nodded, a tight grin on his face. “So you see, I’ve decades of experience at being a failure. It’s quite freeing really.”

He couldn’t bring himself to meet Cullen's eyes. They were full of sympathy and anger. Dorian had not planned on talking about this. He wasn’t prepared to hold himself together under that gaze.

“That’s what you meant, all those weeks ago,” Cullen whispered. “What you’ve been dealing with since you were thirteen.”

Dorian clenched his jaw. “Can we speak of something else, please? This is a trying topic for me, as I’m sure you understand.”

“Maker’s breath, I’m sorry. Of course. I apologize. This must’ve been a very difficult trip for you.” Cullen said.

“It was, but Bull and Cadash helped.” Dorian admitted.

“What about poor Cole?” Cullen laughed. “It’s his sole purpose in life.”

“Let’s see... he brought up the first and only man to break my heart, that was good... he talked to my horse quite a bit... hmmmm.... does staring with a blank expression count as helping?” Dorian mused.

Cullen choked on his mead, laughing so hard his face turned a deep shade of pink. “I think we can give it to him. He tries so hard.”

“Well, there you have it,” Dorian smiled. “Still, it’s good to have friends. Been a long time.”

“Hold on - did you say that you’d talked about... this...” Cullen gestured between them, “- with Iron Bull?”

“Ah.... yes, well. I was convinced I’d made a mess of things. Bull told me I was mistaken. He’s going to be insufferable when he finds out he was right.” Dorian rolled his eyes.

“I see. And what else has Bull told you?”

Shifting his weight on the stone, Dorian chose his words carefully. “He... ah. Well. This is uncomfortable.” He cleared his throat. “He, er, discovered that I wanted something. Something you can apparently provide. He was quite certain about that.”

Thankfully, Cullen busied himself with slicing the loaf of bread and buttering it, not meeting the mage’s eyes. “Is that so. Well. Is this something you’ve done before?” He handed Dorian a slice of bread, as if they were discussing a chess match.

“Er, not... as such.” Dorian offered.

“So, I’m to understand that Bull knows what you want better than you do, yourself?” There was the hint of a knowing smile on Cullen's face.

“Ah, he’s... ahem. Very perceptive.” Dorian said. “Look, do we really need to dance around like this? Can’t we just get to the fun bits?”

Cullen sighed deeply and set his glass down. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his face intent. “I'm afraid it is rather important. Some people... they like to pretend to fight, or pretend to be disobedient, knowing full well they’ll lose, because they look forward to the ‘punishment’ at the end. It can be incredibly satisfying.”

“I can imagine,” Dorian noted, a dark smirk on his face. When Cullen returned the smile, looking up through his lashes, Dorian's breath caught a little. Maker, but the man was absurdly sexy. How had he not noticed it straight away?

“But,” Cullen said, leaning back to lace his hands behind his head. “Some people want nothing more than to please, to submit to another person’s will. They would do anything for their partner. And that can be dangerous. Imagine how devastating it would be, to mistake one desire for the other. A person could, quite by accident, cause a lot of hurt.”

Dorian's stomach clenched. “Vishante kaffas,” he whispered. He thought back to how desperately he’d wanted to please Bull, remembered his panic when he thought he wouldn’t be able to make it. If Bull had deliberately set him up to fail, there would have been nothing Dorian could do to prevent it. He felt sick, knowing how worthless he would’ve felt afterwards. “Cullen did... by Andraste. Did that happen to you?”

Cullen's eyes unfocused as he gazed up at the sky. “Unfortunately, yes. I was young, so was she. It was all a game, or so we thought. Maker, we were not even twenty. Initiates together, then assigned to the Circle. During training, many of us... well. As I said, with everyone else, it was just a game, playing at being bested, though some of us always won, and some always lost. Neither of us realized until it was too late that something was different. She... panicked. During. It was terrible.”

“What happened?” Dorian hadn’t intended to ask; the question slipped from his lips.

Cullen rubbed his forehead. “I stopped, obviously. Tried to calm her down. I had no idea what was happening. Just that I’d hurt her. She’d agreed to things that she didn’t really want, because she wanted so badly to please me. And I didn't know any better, that people could get into that state. So you see why it’s important to talk ahead of time. Because with some, it’s obvious whether they want just the game or something more. But with you, I’m not certain.”

“And... what do _you_ want, Commander?” Dorian asked, stalling for time.

Cullen retrieved his mead and drained it, maintaining eye contact. He wiped his lips with thumb and forefinger. Dorian felt a throb go through him, watching the gesture.

“What do I want?” Cullen repeated the question, his eyes boring into the mage. “I’m afraid to tell you everything I want from you, Dorian. Just know I want whatever you’ll give me.”

Dorian's mouth went dry. Hearing Cullen talk, Dorian knew the shape of his desire, even if he couldn’t name it. Dorian swallowed hard. His skin felt cold and hot at the same time. “There’s... something you should know.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Cullen's words were light, but his gaze was piercing.

Dorian couldn’t look away from those amber eyes. “That night... when Barris walked me to my quarters... I almost invited him in. He did all but ask. But I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because there was a little voice in my head, telling me not to. A voice that sounded suspiciously like your own. That's why I wasn’t in my quarters when the Templars showed up. I was going to see you. But... then I realized how odd that would seem, showing up at your quarters in the middle of the night, so I turned around.”

With a deep inhale, Cullen's eyes tightened as he took in this bit of information. “I see.”

There was a pause. Dorian realized he was shaking. Not trembling, exactly; it was more like an insistent quiver, a vibration that ran through every part of him, electric. “Does that... answer your question?”

The Commander’s shoulders rose and fell once more in a deliberate breath. “Possibly.”

Cullen stood. Slowly. Or perhaps Dorian's sense of time had become warped. And his sense of space; Cullen seemed to loom over him. Dorian was frozen, unable to do more than blink up at Cullen, his mind blank.

Cullen drifted the back of his hand from Dorian's temple and down his cheek. His touch was so gentle that Dorian wasn’t even sure it was touch; it could’ve been simply the heat from the Commander’s hand ghosting over his skin. He hadn’t known what to expect - force, maybe, some outward expression of power. Dorian gave a tiny whine as much from surprise as from pleasure.

Cullen's eyes widened. He rested a thumb firmly on Dorian's chin. “Open,” he said quietly.

Dorian obligingly let his jaw drop. When Cullen's thumb brushed his lips, then plunged into his mouth, he began to suck, staring into the Commander’s face.

“No no, just open,” Cullen clarified, his voice gentle. “Only what I say.”

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. There was no possible reason those simple words should have elicited such a response from Dorian. He complied at once; yet he could not help but whimper loudly as something in him, some heretofore sleeping desire, shuddered to wakefulness and hunger. He felt dizzy, his mind seemed blanketed with a fog that drowned out his thoughts.

The sound seemed to affect Cullen in turn. His reaction to the simple act of drawing his fingers along Dorian's tongue was outsized. The man gasped sharp exhalations, his eyes tight with coiled lust. “Suck,” he commanded suddenly.

Dorian suckled those fingers like his life depended on it. Cullen thrust his fingers in and out of the mage’s mouth, gasping as if it was his cock, staring intently into Dorian's eyes. “Enough,” he said finally, ripping his hand away. “I have my answer.”

He pulled Dorian to stand. The mage was dizzy, shaking his head in a fruitless effort to clear his mind. It wasn’t possible; Cullen was kissing him again, drawing the breath from Dorian's lungs as surely as he wiped the nascent thoughts from his head.

“I mean to make you mine, Dorian,” Cullen said. “But my mind is clouded, as is yours. I cannot risk hurting you.”

Dorian gave a disappointed whine as he guessed where Cullen's train of thought was headed. How long was he going to have to wait?

“Shh,” Cullen said, putting a finger on his lips. “Listen. I’m going to walk you back to your quarters. I’ll leave you for an hour. Do whatever you must to clear your head. I know what I’ll be doing,” he said, grinding against Dorian. “Then think long and hard about your limits. Everyone has them, I won’t accept ‘none’ for an answer. Do you understand?”

Nodding, Dorian whispered. “I understand.”

“Good,” Cullen said. “Now, let’s get out of here before I break my own rules.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, you guys? It's about to get reeeeeaaally smutty in here.


	8. Give Yourself to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Dorian finish what they've started.

Time was definitely moving in odd ways. The walk to Dorian's room, which should have taken about three minutes, took what felt like thirty. It did not help matters that, at every secluded alcove and dark corner, Cullen pressed Dorian against the rough stone. His kisses were not teases; they were torment.

Still, after what felt like a lifetime, they reached Dorian's room. Fumbling, Dorian managed to unlock to door and step inside. He turned.

Cullen did not follow. Instead, he reached over the threshold, drawing his thumb along Dorian's jaw to his lips. “One hour,” he repeated, and then firmly pulled the door shut.

As soon as the latch clicked into place, Dorian moaned, tugging the laces of his breeches frantically. He backed up to the wall, where Cullen had pinned him earlier. Curling his hand around his cock, he bucked his hips, fucking into his fist. It was over impossibly fast. With a strangled shout, he spurted his release.

With each passing breath, his mind cleared. He cleaned himself up, changed his clothes, and poured a glass of wine, waving the fire to life with his magic.

An hour seemed like a long time to wait, especially given that he’d only needed a handful of moments to “clear his head” as Cullen had called it. He wondered how long it had taken the Commander, whether he’d bothered to go up the ladder. For all his talk about giving orders and taking control, the man had been hanging on by his fingernails, Dorian knew.

He sipped his wine and thought about his limits. Fasta vass, he didn’t know. Still, he had to think of something. He was tempted to make something up. Toe-sucking, maybe? That was moderately disgusting. Bodily waste? Okay, that one was easy to add to the list.

Other than that, Dorian was at a bit of a loss. His range of experience was wide, but shallow. Hell, it wasn’t until Bull that he’d slept with the same man more than three times. Didn’t leave a lot of room for experimentation.

Suddenly there was a knock. Had it been an hour already? Was that possible? He rose and opened the door.

It wasn’t Cullen. It was the Iron Bull. “Hey Dorian. Came to check on you.” He leaned in the doorway.

“I’m fine, as you can see.” Dorian said impatiently.

Bull reared back. “Whoa, big guy.” He held up his hands. “Have you ever, maybe, _tried_ to be a better liar? It’s not that difficult, you know.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “If you must know, I’m waiting for Cullen.”

“Ah HA!” Bull said, slapping him on the shoulder. “Nice.”

“Yes, so, as you can imagine, now’s not the time.” He pushed on Bull’s chest, trying to shift him.

He might as well have pushed the wall. Bull tilted his head, looking down in confusion. “That working for you?”

Dorian groaned in frustration. “Can’t you take a hint?”

“Well he’s not here yet, is he? What’s the big deal? Or do you need to get ready?” Bull gave him a slow once-over. “You’re looking mighty pretty, so I’m gonna say no on that last one. Are those pajamas you’re wearing or some kind of ‘Vint lingerie or what?”

“Bull, what do you want?” Dorian said, flopping down to sit on the bed. He wiped his hands down his face.

“You had a rough trip. I wanted to make sure you’re okay. You don’t seem okay though. So I’m still here.” Bull sat on the edge of the bed, nudging the door closed with his foot.

“How am I not okay? Did I not mention the part about Cullen coming soon? Would you like me to draw a diagram of all the sex I plan to have? I could get Sera to help. She seems a dab hand with dirty drawings.” Dorian reluctantly scooted over to make room for the huge man.

“Shit, Dorian, this new room’s tiny,” Bull said, looking around. “I feel like I’m gonna scrape my horns on the walls if I sneeze.”

Dorian flung himself backwards to lay down. “Buuuulllllllll. Are you even listening to me?”

“I’m listening. I’m waiting for you to stop lying. You tell me what’s bothering you, I leave. Simple.”

Glaring at him, Dorian sat up. “Really.”

“Swear on my horns,” Bull said.

Taking a deep breath, Dorian slumped. “Cullen’s... afraid of hurting me. Afraid I’ll... let him do things I don’t want. I can't even begin to know how that's possible. He says he wants to know my limits. Kaffas, Bull, I don’t know. How do I know what I don't like until I’ve tried it?”

“Ah,” Bull nodded sagely. “That’s good. That he asked, I mean. Not good you’ve got your panties in a bunch about it. Listen, you already know one of your limits. If you didn’t want to let me down, you’re definitely not gonna want to let Cullen down. That's an easy one. For the rest.... I dunno. What’s the worst sex you’ve ever had?”

“Harold,” Dorian said at once. “A chevalier I met when I got to the south. Terrible breath, terrible kisser, just... terrible.”

“Hmm.” Bull thought. “That’s not helpful. Okay, how about... the time you felt the worst, during or after.”

Stroking his chin, Dorian considered. “That’s a difficult one. Probably Demetrius.”

Bull made a motion with his hand, indicating Dorian should continue. “Demetrius was the son of one of my father’s friends. He was maybe two years older. When I was fifteen, our families spent a week at his summer villa. He was handsome enough, I suppose. I don’t know... he just... had this way of making me feel awful. Like I was bad or... I don’t know. It’s hard to describe.”

“There you go,” Bull said.

“What, are you serious? How is ‘don’t make me feel awful’ a limit?” Dorian scoffed.

“Hey, some people like to be demeaned. I had a girl in Orlais who couldn’t finish unless I called her the most awful names I could think of. She loved it.” Bull shrugged.

“Really? Are you joking?” Dorian asked skeptically.

“Swear on my horns,” Bull grinned.

There was a knock on the door. Dorian waved it open with his magic, rather than clamber over Bull.

Cullen stood at the threshold. “This is not what I had in mind when I suggested you clear your head.”

“Holy shit, Cullen, you made him blush. The ‘Vint is _blushing,”_ Bull said in wonderment. He attempted to poke Dorian's cheek; the mage slapped his hand away as the Qunari laughed.

“Bull, I am dangerously close to setting you on fire,” Dorian warned.

“Yeah yeah,” Bull said, getting to his feet leisurely. “See you around, Cullen,” Bull said as he left.

Cullen regarded Dorian with a raised eyebrow. Dorian rubbed his forehead. “Honestly, he just got here. And I couldn’t get him to leave.”

“I think I know a thing or two about how hard it is to get the Qunari to leave,” Cullen said dryly. “May I come in?”

“Of course, Commander.” Dorian said politely.

Cullen took a step in and shut the door behind him, then locked it. It sounded quite loud in the tiny room. “Have you had thought about what we discussed?”

“Yes,” Dorian said.

“And?”

“I suppose I should state the obvious? No bodily waste?”

Cullen laughed. “What else?”

Dorian cleared his throat. “Yes. What else. This part’s rather more difficult, isn’t it?”

Cullen nodded but gave him an encouraging smile.

“I....” Dorian sighed in frustration, swearing to himself. He screwed his eyes shut. “I don’t want to disappoint you. And I don’t want to be belittled.”

When no response was forthcoming, he peeked an eye open. Cullen's smile had faded. He looked, well, rather sad, actually. He took a step closer. “How could I possibly belittle the gift that you’ve offered me?” His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, and he reached a hand up to stroke Dorian's cheek.

Dorian might not have understood what the words meant, but the touch was unambiguous. He leaned into it, Cullen's hand snaking around to the back of Dorian's neck, pulling him close.

The hour apart had banked the raging fires they’d stoked earlier. This was a languid kiss, unhurried, as each lazily explored the taste of the other. Maker, but it was good. Dorian would gladly have stayed in that moment for much longer, but Cullen had other plans. The Commander pulled away. “Take your clothes off. I want to see you.”

Having anticipated the need to remove his clothing at some point, Dorian had changed into a long silk tunic and loose trousers, in the Tevinter style. The tunic had a line of small buttons down the front. Strictly speaking, the garment could be pulled over his head without the need for unfastening the front. Still. Cullen hadn’t said to hurry.

This was familiar territory. Dorian was well-versed in the art of the tease. Starting at his neck, Dorian began to unbutton his shirt. He watched Cullen's eyes follow the trail of his fingers down his chest. The scrutiny, combined with the anticipation, had him half-hard by the time the last button was loosed. With a shrug of his shoulders, the tunic fell away. His fingers found the free end of the drawstring on his trousers. A sharp tug and the knot was untied. Dorian slipped his thumbs along the waistband, freeing the fabric from where it hung on his cock. Then he let the trousers flutter to the ground.

Cullen gave an appreciative exhalation. “Beautiful.” He stepped closer, running his hands along the plane of Dorian's chest, looking down at Dorian's body. “Maker. So beautiful.”

Dorian smiled. “I’m glad you think so,” he said.

Cullen looked up at him in surprise, making Dorian wonder if he’d broken some unspoken rule by speaking. “How do you feel?” Cullen asked.

Dorian gave a smiling shrug. “Fine? Getting naked for a handsome man’s close to the top of my ‘favorite things’ list.”

Laughing, Cullen stroked the outside of his arm. “Were you expecting something different?”

“Frankly... yes.” Dorian said.

“Such as?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I half expected you to tie me up, gag me, that sort of thing.” Dorian said.

“We’ll get to that, no fear,” Cullen smirked. That smirk shook Dorian's confidence a bit.

“Oh?”

“Maybe not tonight,” Cullen acknowledged. “I didn’t bring any rope.” He ran the tips of his fingers from the hollow of Dorian's throat down to his navel.

“Are you...” Dorian cleared his throat. “Are you good with knots?” His voice was starting to lose the cocky overtone.

“Oh yes. Quite skilled,” Cullen said lazily, scraping a fingernail along Dorian's iliac groove.

The mage hissed. “I see. Might it be too forward to ask what’s on the menu for tonight?”

Cullen smiled, still regarding Dorian's body. “Mmm, tonight.” He gave a satisfied sigh. “Tonight we keep things simple, concentrate on consummating what you’ve known for weeks.”

“And that is?”

“That - for as long as you want to be - you’re _mine,_ Dorian.” Cullen said, looking him in the eye.

Dorian felt his self-control shatter. His knees wobbled, and his breath rattled in his lungs. Whatever he wanted to say in reply came out as a moan.

“Gorgeous,” Cullen breathed. He casually reached behind him and grabbed a pillow, tossing it to the floor. “On your knees.”

Dorian stumbled to obey. Cullen grabbed the fabric of his shirt from the back of his shoulders and pulled it over his head, the muscles in his arms bunching as Dorian watched. _Sweet Maker._ His body was _perfect,_ the crisscross of scars only highlighting the fact that every muscle was exquisitely sculpted. Dorian blinked rapidly, his cock twitching in anticipation.

Cullen gave a lazy grin as he caught Dorian looking. He stepped over to the mage, unlacing his breeches over the straining bulge.

The Commander loosed himself from the confines of the fabric. “Open your mouth,” he said calmly. “Just like that.”

He pushed past Dorian's waiting lips. The mage held still, awaiting instructions. “Good,” Cullen noted, sliding along Dorian's tongue. “Suck. No hands.”

Again, the Commander hadn’t said to hurry. Dorian raised his eyes, watching Cullen's reaction as he sucked him into his mouth with agonizing slowness. He continued, relaxing his throat, until he’d taken Cullen's entire length. After momentary pause, in which the Commander made a gratifying “ooh” of satisfaction, Dorian began the slide back out.

“Very nice,” Cullen purred, tracing his forefinger along Dorian's hairline. “Very nice indeed.”

Dorian continued, though he increased his pace. He wasn’t made of stone, after all. After a moment he forgot about showing off and lost himself in the sensation of it: Cullen’s taste and smell, the ridges dragging along his tongue, the small sounds of appreciation.

His jaw and neck began to ache. Dorian hadn’t meant to telegraph his effort, but he began to grunt and sigh as he struggled to maintain a steady pace.

Cullen stilled him with a hand, holding Dorian back. He longed to close his mouth, rest his aching jaw, but he was unsure. Was he allowed? Cullen hadn’t said, but his previous command “only what I say” hung heavy in the air. What does one do in this situation? Surely there was some protocol?

“Do you need to rest?” Cullen asked, a smile on his face.

Dorian nodded.

“That’s fine,” Cullen allowed. “I like that you’re trying so hard for me. Don’t force yourself. No need to suffer. Not tonight, at least.”

With a sharp inhale, Dorian couldn’t help but rock upwards, shifting his hips at the sudden vision that flashed through his mind: Cullen standing over his bound and begging form.

“Ah,” Cullen smiled in satisfaction. “Almost there. Maker, but it’s beautiful to see. Up,” he said, helping Dorian to stand.

Dorian did his best to hide his confusion. This was nothing new; the mage wasn’t in the habit of announcing when something was beyond his comprehension. His modus operandi was to pretend to know more than he did. Confidence and context clues could get him out of almost any situation.

But this was different. His effort to hide his confusion had everything to do with pleasing Cullen and nothing to do with his own ego. With a start, he realized he hadn’t even spoken in several minutes. Should he? Could he? He didn’t want to do this wrong. What if Cullen expected something else from him?

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Cullen said, as if Dorian had spoken aloud. “It happened so quickly before that you didn’t notice. It’s okay. Do you have a question?”

“I don’t understand,” Dorian admitted. His voice sounded odd. Quiet and far away. “I’m... am I doing this right?”

Cullen brushed his hands through Dorian's hair. “Oh yes. How do you feel?”

Dorian opened his mouth, then realized he wasn’t sure. “Odd,” he said finally.

“Are you frightened?”

Clearing his throat, Dorian willed his voice to come out louder than a whisper. “A bit.”

“That’s natural. Like I said, you didn’t know it was happening before. And now you’re starting to realize.” Cullen never stopped touching him, running his hands continuously over Dorian's hair and chest and arms, a soothing caress that kept a large portion of Dorian's mind distracted.

“What’s happening?” It was a whisper, now.

Dorian had always known that Cullen was handsome. It was an objective fact, full stop. And he’d come to find the man alluring as well. But nothing in all the months of chess games and long talks and letters and furtive glances prepared him for the way Cullen lit up from within when he answered Dorian's question, an expression of almost reverent wonder that rendered the Commander breathtaking.

“You’re giving yourself to me.”

The shudder that wracked through Dorian sent him off-balance; he fell forward on to Cullen's shoulder. The man caught him easily, holding him in a gentle embrace. “I’ve got you,” Cullen murmured, stroking his hair. “You did this before, after dinner. So quick you didn’t even notice. Between one breath and the next, and you were mine, Dorian.”

Cullen's hand ghosted down Dorian's spine, making him twitch. He groaned as Cullen palmed the swell of his ass. The Commander continued to speak. “I almost came when you sucked my fingers, did you know that? Watching your face when you obeyed my command, I almost fell apart, right then. You were made for this, Dorian. I stood outside your door and listened to you. I heard how quickly you finished. Did you know you called my name? I almost didn’t make it back to my office. Sweet Maker, I want you so badly,” he said. “I have since I first saw you.”

The sound of Cullen's voice was hypnotic; Dorian was panting, grinding up against him as Cullen's hand guided his motions. Once again, his mind had gone blank, attuned completely to his own body and Cullen's. It wasn’t so much that his thoughts had ceased or grown silent, but that the flurry of sensations and feelings and thoughts had coalesced into a steady background hum. He felt fuzzy and warm and utterly safe.

Cullen shifted their bodies down to the bed, Dorian laying underneath him. The Commander quickly shucked off his breeches, then rolled on top of Dorian, holding himself up with his arms. He leaned down and kissed Dorian.

This was not a sweet and gentle kiss, but a claiming. The Commander nipped and sucked and swept his tongue into Dorian, taking what he wanted. Within seconds Dorian was gasping quietly, his hips making tiny motions, trying to gain purchase against Cullen's skin.

“Ah,” Cullen breathed, pulling away. He rolled his hips so that they were sliding against one another. “You want more.” It was not a question.

“Yes,” Dorian said, not even embarrassed at the way his voice broke.

Cullen hummed in appreciation. His eyes roved possessively along Dorian's face and body. “I can’t decide what I want more. Should I prepare you myself? Feel you stretch beneath my fingers, watch your face as you yield to me?”

Dorian moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Cullen was relentless. “Or perhaps I should make you do it. Watch as you use your hands to make yourself ready, watch you make an offering of yourself, eager to feel me take you?” Cullen's voice seemed to seep into Dorian's pores, melting into him.

“Oh fuck,” Dorian gasped.

“Mmmm. I see you like that idea. Maybe we’ll do that next time. Maybe I’ll watch you stretch yourself, and then have you fuck yourself on my cock while I watch you come undone. For tonight, I want every part of you,” Cullen grinned. He leaned back and reached for his breeches, fumbling through the pocket for a small vial of oil.

Cullen rolled to his side, stretching along Dorian. He brought the mage’s leg up, hitching it over his hip. Cullen raked his hand up the underside of Dorian's thigh, his nails digging in.

Bucking his hips, Dorian cried out at the sudden sensation. Cullen's breath was heavy and slow and ragged. “Perfect. Give yourself to me, Dorian.”

Dorian moaned as he felt Cullen's finger pressing against the whorl of tight muscle. Cullen's eyes were trained on his face, watching every twitch and gasp.

“You feel so amazing,” Cullen said, adding a second finger. “Exquisite. I can’t wait to take you.” He punctuated the statement by grinding up against Dorian. Dorian hadn’t seen him do it, but Cullen had slicked himself as well; his cock slid against the swell of Dorian's hip with no resistance. He continued the motion, in rhythm to his fingers thrusting in and out.

When the third finger pressed into him, Dorian's breath caught. After a second he choked out an exhalation, blinking rapidly. Cullen had curved his fingers, sending a jolt of pleasure through Dorian.

“Gorgeous,” Cullen groaned. “You give yourself to me so beautifully. Do you think you’re ready for me?”

Dorian whined, nodding fast.

“Are you sure?” Cullen said, his fingers corkscrewing into him.

“Maker, yes.” Dorian moaned.

Cullen's eyes were tight with lust, his breath rushing through his lips. “Tell me how bad you want it, Dorian. Tell me how bad you want me.”

Rocking on to Cullen's hand, the words came slowly to Dorian. He’d never been much of a talker during sex. It always felt awkward. “I... I want you to... ungh,” he groaned, clenching his eyes shut.

Cullen's laugh was wicked and low. “I’m not going to fuck you until you’re begging me for my cock,” Cullen said. “I know you can do it. Tell me what you want.” His fingers once again found Dorian's prostate.

“Ahhh,” Dorian gasped. His resistance broke and the words came easy. “Yes, Maker yes, please, please fuck me. Cullen, please, I’ve been dreaming of your cock for months, please take me, I can’t stand it.” The words came spilling from his lips. “Oh - no, please, I - oh Maker. Please, _please,_ Commander.”

At that, Cullen pulled his fingers away guided the tip of his cock into Dorian. He thrust just a hair faster than what Dorian could take, tempering the pleasure with a burning stretch. Once fully hilted, he pulled back, leaning to kiss Dorian deeply.

After a moment, Dorian began shifting, trying to rock back against him. Cullen broke the kiss and began moving in earnest, sharp thrusts that jolted through Dorian.

It was so good. Too good. He howled as Cullen bit his shoulder, the thrusts now jolting hard and fast. Dorian's moans began to coalesce into a continuous whine.

For a brief, panic-inducing moment, Cullen pulled completely out and away. Dorian whimpered, then relaxed as the Commander rolled to lay between his thighs.

“Wrap your legs around me,” Cullen growled.

Dorian had rarely been in such an intimate position, and with good reason. Feeling Cullen taking him this deeply, while the man stared into his eyes? Dorian had never felt so vulnerable. He grabbed fistfulls of the sheets, gritting his teeth against the pleasure.

“Perfect,” Cullen groaned. “Dorian. You’re going to make me come undone inside you. I want to feel you finish. Can you do that for me?”

A whine of frustration broke free from Dorian's mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, arching against Cullen. The Commander hadn’t given him permission to touch himself. He’d never come without a hand on his cock, though Bull had gotten him close. But he wanted to. He wanted to, for Cullen.

“Open your eyes, Dorian,” Cullen said. “Look at me.” The man eased up on his thrusts, moving slowly and carefully.

Dorian wrenched his eyes open.

Cullen nodded. “Good.” His voice was thick. “Now. I asked you a question. Can you come for me?”

Dorian grimaced. “I need - I can’t,” was all he could manage, his voice almost a squeak.

“You need to touch yourself?” Cullen's voice rasped as Dorian nodded helplessly. “That’s fine. All that matters is that you come, Dorian.”

Dorian's hand flew to his cock, and he moaned gratefully. He tugged insistently at himself, making tiny warbling gasps.

“Louder,” Cullen said. “Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.” He resumed the hard thrusts, his pace increasing until he was pounding into the mage.

Dorian moved against him, breathy moans matching the Commander’s grunts. They skated along this edge, teetering on the brink for what felt like a lifetime.

“Fuck,” Cullen groaned, his head lolling on his neck. “Now, Dorian. Come for me _now.”_

The release erupted through Dorian's fingers, hitting Cullen in the chest as his ass clenched around the man’s cock. There was a moment of frantic thrusting, as if Cullen could take more of him, somehow, make Dorian his even more completely, even as he found his release. They rutted together through the aftershocks, shuddering.

At last Cullen pulled out and collapsed next to Dorian, wrapping an arm and a leg around him. Dorian was drifting in and out, dozing really, when Cullen took a deep breath and let it out, shifting his weight.

“Do you want me to stay?” Cullen's voice was uncertain.

Up until that instant, the answer to that question would’ve been no. Too intimate. Hell, it’d been hard enough to get used to sharing a tent with Bull. And a tent wasn’t his quarters, by any stretch. This was his space, his sanctuary. Even if the room wasn’t comically undersized, Dorian had never wanted to share his space with anyone else.

He had to admit, however, that the prospect of an empty bed was suddenly very unappealing.

“Dorian?” Cullen asked, leaning away from him.

He hadn’t realized how long the question had hung out there. “Sorry - ” he began.

Cullen immediately began to get up. Dorian could feel the tension in the man’s body; even if he couldn’t, it was there in his voice.

“I understand,” Cullen said at once. “That’s fine.”

“No, stop,” Dorian huffed, pulling at him. “I meant, sorry that I didn’t answer right away. No one’s ever asked me that before. Of course I want you to stay.”

“Really?” The relief in Cullen's voice was palpable.

“Only if you promise not to snore. Oh, and hand me a cloth from the wash stand, would you? It’s right there by your feet.” Dorian ordered lazily.

Cullen snickered. “I suppose the coziness does have some advantages,” he said, handing the damp cloth to Dorian.

“It does. Are you comfortable? I’m going to put out the fire,” Dorian yawned. He flicked his wrist as Cullen nodded, and the fire died out.

“I’m sensing all sorts of advantages here,” Cullen said.

“Mmmm,” Dorian nodded, half-asleep. “Good night, Commander,” he murmured.

“Good night,” Cullen said.

Dorian was asleep almost at once. He had no way of knowing how long Cullen lay awake, watching Dorian's sleeping face by the dying embers of the fire.

 

 


	9. Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen makes an error in judgement, and Dorian loses control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's in the tags, but there is mention of past dubious consent in this chapter.

It was possible that Dorian had enjoyed a better night of sleep at some point in his life, though if he had, he didn’t remember it. Perhaps it was the exertion of the previous evening’s activities. Maybe he was simply so worn out that he slept like a baby. Surely it had nothing to do with the way his body fit together perfectly with Cullen, even in the laughably small bed.

That comfort splintered as soon as he woke up. Without the hazy bliss of sex blanketing his mind, Dorian was sharply aware of Cullen nestled next to him. Well this just wouldn’t do. Carnal pleasures aside, Dorian had no desire to become _attached_ to Cullen. And the disconnect between his mind’s instinct to flee and his body’s desire to stay created a prickling friction.

It didn’t help that Cullen was so blasted attractive while he slept. The blond shifted, somehow drawing closer to Dorian _(how was that even possible?)_ while uttering a contented sigh. No, this would not do at all.

“What time is it, do you think?” Cullen said into the crook of Dorian's neck. “This is why you need a window.”

The Commander’s stubble was doing all sorts of delightfully tickly things, scraping enticingly across the hollow of his throat, and the warm air from his lips tickled Dorian's ear. It took Dorian a moment to realized the Commander was _nuzzling_ him.

Dorian didn’t do ‘nuzzles’.

Before his body betrayed him by deciding that, in fact, he was actually quite interested in nuzzles, thanks for asking, Dorian sat up. Cullen's disappointed whine at the lack of contact did nothing to help bolster his resolve. Nor did the way the Commander seemed eager to burrow his face into the pillow, trying to harvest a few more moments of sleep.

“Come on, sun’s up,” Dorian said, squinting at the light leaking in from the grate in the wall. “I thought soldiers rose at dawn, trained hard, ate nails for breakfast, that sort of thing.”

Cullen rolled over but did not get up. “Some do,” he said sleepily. One of his fingers outlined the musculature of Dorian's arm. “I... have difficulty sleeping, however.”

“That’s because you don’t have a roof,” Dorian remarked. “They do all sorts of good, roofs. Everyone should have one.”

“And windows,” Cullen said. A slow smile crept along Cullen's face. The finger tracing lightly up and down Dorian's arm did not alter path or speed, but suddenly he felt the burning scrape of Cullen's fingernail. Dorian hissed quietly, his breath catching.

“What happens now?” Dorian asked, trying to limit the amount of suspicion and concern in his voice. He wasn’t often in a position to have to interact with his lovers for more than a short while. Bull was the exception, but the Qunari was so blasé about sex that it didn’t warrant much of a discussion.

“What do you want to happen?” Cullen asked, smoothing his palm down the trail of pink left by his fingernail. The caress was in direct opposition to the dark glint in his eye.

Dorian paused. He’d thought about this all the way from Redcliffe to Skyhold, what he would say in this exact scenario. Something that would make it clear this was a one-time thing, knowing full well they’d probably still have sex a few more times after. However, this course of action had been decided before he’d actually experienced the sex itself. He was keenly aware that the actual actions of their tryst last night were not much different from things he'd done countless times. Yet somehow it was so much more than the sum of its parts. Whatever it was that Cullen did to him, Dorian wanted more. Much, much more.

He realized Cullen was looking at him. The warrior’s expression had shifted from ‘expectant’ to ‘potentially concerned’ and was rounding the corner on ‘panicked’.

“Sorry,” Dorian said. “You’re very distracting, you know that? I somehow find it difficult to concentrate just now.”

“Oh?” The relief in Cullen's voice was offset by the hitch of lust. Once again he scraped at Dorian's arm, now using all of his fingers. He looked up at Dorian through his lashes.

Dorian was able to bite back the moan, but he couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through him. Cullen repeated the motion, now raking upwards.

This time, a tiny sound escaped Dorian's lips, and his eyes fluttered closed. He felt Cullen shift, coming around to kneel behind him, and then there was a set of teeth digging into the crook of his neck.

“Kaffas,” Dorian swore under his breath, arching backward.

“What does that mean?” Cullen asked, dragging the sharp stubble of his chin up the side of Dorian's neck.

“Sh-shit,” Dorian answered, gasping mid-word as Cullen bit his earlobe and pulled.

Cullen's chuckle was warm and ever-so-slightly dirty. Dorian was having trouble remembering how he’d ever got it in his head that Cullen was a chaste virgin. Especially the way he was reaching around to roll Dorian's nipples between his fingers.

“Well, if you can’t come up with an answer for what happens next, I certainly can,” Cullen murmured. “I’ve got all sorts of ideas. None of which involve letting you leave this room anytime soon.”

There was no stifling this moan, which broke loud from Dorian's mouth as Cullen's hand reached for the mage’s now twitching cock. His fingers curled around the shaft delicately, making Dorian buck his hips.

“What kind of ideas?” Dorian breathed.

“Mmm, some of the things we didn’t get to last night. I think I’d like to see you bound,” Cullen's voice had an edge to it, almost a growl. It was a devastating counterpoint to the feeling of the cock pressing up against Dorian's lower back.

Dorian was rapidly losing the ability to do much more thinking. He’d been dreaming of just that scenario for, what, almost two months now? His head lolled backwards, resting on Cullen's shoulder behind him, letting Cullen's voice and hands take the reins.

“Would you like that, Dorian? Do you want me to tie you down and take you?”

“Oh, fuck yes.” Dorian tried to rut against Cullen's hand, but the man pulled it away. Dorian felt that fuzzy, hazy sensation, as if his brain was wrapped in wool. Cullen continued to describe in great detail just how thoroughly he planned to fuck Dorian. The mage’s awareness slowly began to collapse down Cullen's voice and his own body.

Cullen retrieved his belt and Dorian's silk tunic from the floor. The tunic he spread on the bed, then guided Dorian down, laying him on his stomach on the smooth fabric. “Hands over your head,” Cullen said.

Dorian complied, then watched as Cullen threaded the belt through the headboard and secured Dorian's hands. The mage tugged experimentally. It felt good, comforting even.

“You doubt my binding?” There was a hint of amusement in Cullen's voice.

“No, I - I just...” Dorian blinked, embarrassed.

“It’s fine,” Cullen said, kissing his temple. “Always good to check first. Does it hurt?”

Dorian shook his head.

“Do you have a watchword?” Cullen said, drawing his hand lazily up and down Dorian's spine.

“Katoh,” Dorian said, without thinking.

Cullen burst out laughing. “Let me guess, did Bull give you that?”

Dorian felt his cheeks burning as the laughter tore into him. He nodded, mortified. Of course it was obvious; the word was Qunlat. And he’d gone and blurted it out like a fool. The fog in his head disarmed all the counterbalances that normally kept his emotions under strict control. He couldn’t diffuse the situation. It became a feedback loop; he was embarrassed by his embarrassment. Dorian squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face into the bed, hoping Cullen wouldn’t notice.

“Maker’s breath, are you -” Cullen pulled the makeshift bindings from Dorian's wrists. “Here, sit up,” Cullen said, guiding him into a sitting position.

Cullen's voice was soothing. “Dorian. I need to see you. Please. Open your eyes for me.”

Dorian didn’t want to open his eyes. Reluctantly, finally, he did, though he didn’t look up at Cullen. “I’m sorry,” Dorian whispered. “I didn’t mean to ruin it.”

Cullen tipped up Dorian's chin, forcing the mage to meet his eyes. He looked at Dorian closely, then his expression softened. “Maker’s breath,” he whispered again. “Oh, Dorian.” He pulled the mage into an embrace, cradling the back of his head with his hand.

Everything was wrong. Dorian had managed to foul up even this simple thing. The urge to run was almost as strong as it had been the night the Templars found him.

He couldn’t run, though. Cullen was holding him fast, rocking him slightly. “I’m so sorry, Dorian. Will you ever trust me again, after this? Maker’s breath, I’m such a fool.”

The haze began to clear. “Cullen. Why are you apologizing? I’m the one who can’t take a joke, apparently,” Dorian said sourly.

Cullen refused to let go, shaking his head into Dorian's neck. “You really have no idea how precious and amazing you are, and I just stomped all over you. Maker take me. Can you forgive me?”

Squirming out of Cullen's grip, Dorian frowned. “Will you kindly shut the hell up or explain yourself?”

Digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, Cullen sighed. “I didn’t realize you’d gone under. I didn’t even think to check. And then I laughed, when you specifically asked me not to belittle you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I feel terrible.”

“Gone under what?” Dorian frowned.

“That’s... just what I call it. Like I said last night. You give yourself over. I didn’t realize how easy it is for you. I thought the first time was a fluke.” Cullen ran his hands through his hair. “I am such a fool.”

The frown was still very evident on Dorian's face, though it had lessened slightly. “I’m not convinced _I’m_ not the fool here.”

Cullen pulled his hands away. “Dorian, you don’t understand. You’re incredibly vulnerable once you get in that state. It’s _my_ responsibility to abide by the limits you’ve set. Although apparently I cannot be trusted with even that.”

Dorian blinked rapidly as this information was absorbed. Up until that point, Dorian had thought that it was the strange fog which blanketed his consciousness which made him feel safe and content. Suddenly he realized it was _Cullen_ who was providing that feeling; the haziness in his mind merely allowed Dorian to enjoy it. If Cullen were to make him feel bad or uncomfortable, even by accident.... Dorian frowned. “When you told me about that girl, the one that... got hurt, you didn’t mean physically, did you?”

“No.” Cullen said simply. “I didn’t.” His eyes were filled with regret.

The full import of what Cullen was saying slammed into him. Dorian's stomach heaved. If he’d yet eaten, he’d have vomited. Because he knew, with sickening clarity, that he’d have let Cullen take him just now. He would have laid there and taken it, despite feeling terrible. And he would have hated himself for it.

With a shuddering inhalation, Cullen sat up. “I should probably go before I manage to make things worse. I should have known better than to -” He cut himself off. “I should have known better. If you still feel up to a game, I’ll wait for you in the garden at noon. I’ll understand if you’d rather not.”

“Don’t be silly,” Dorian said, trying to keep his voice light.

Cullen shook his head and stood up, wrestling his legs into his trousers. He didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say; even Dorian could hear the lie in his voice.

The Commander’s hand was on the doorknob when Dorian called out. “Wait, please.”

Cullen stood still but did not turn. When Dorian didn’t speak right away, he looked over his shoulder.

Dorian froze. He realized that he was literally speechless. A myriad conflicting thoughts ran through his head, each canceling the other out: _I don’t want you to go/it’d be best if you leave. I want you to have every part of me/I don’t want to be this close. Please come back and hold me/we should never do this again._

“Is it always like this?” he finally managed to say. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking.

“You know there are a thousand ways to interpret that question,” Cullen accused.

“Please just say no,” Dorian said. “Be a better liar than I am.”

Cullen winced, but he spoke the word. “No.”

“I’ll see you at noon, Commander.”

***

True to his word, Cullen was waiting for Dorian in the garden. He’d even set the board. He hadn’t set up his face, however. The man looked incredibly nervous, standing almost to attention as Dorian approached.

“Cullen, you look like you swallowed a spider,” Dorian chided. In contrast to the ex-Templar, Dorian had spent all morning placing the unexamined emotions into various stages of mental lockdown. As a liar he was atrocious; as an actor, he was skilled.

“Are you...” Cullen shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Am I what?” Dorian fixed him with a bland look. “Eager to best you in chess? Of course. That's a given.” He selected a smile from his repertoire and installed it on his face.

The shadow of a frown ghosted across Cullen's lips, but he sat. “I... perhaps we shouldn’t,” Cullen said. “Maybe it’s too soon. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He shifted his weight forward as if he was going to stand.

“No.” Dorian snapped, slamming his hand on the board; the pieces jumped in response. “You don’t get to decide this, Cullen. You don’t get to tell me how I should react. Ever since I’ve arrived I’ve had people walking on eggshells around me, and frankly, I’m fucking tired of it.” His voice was not loud, but it quivered with anger.

“Dorian, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean -” Cullen began.

“That’s just it, isn’t it? No one ever _means_ anything by it. All this concern. All this fussing and mothering and sympathy. No one ever asks, ‘How would you like us to treat you, Dorian? Would you prefer to retain some sense of normalcy even though everything is crumbling around you?’ No. It’s all ‘Stop lying, Dorian, stop hiding how much it hurts, let everyone see how weak and pathetic you really are, and then it’ll be all better.’” He was barely holding in his rage. Electrical currents webbed between his fingers. He balled his hand into a shaking fist. “You’re right, Commander. Now’s apparently not the time. If you’ll excuse me.”

Dorian went back to his room and gathered his staff. His anger threatened to overtake him; he needed an outlet, and soon.

The practice ring was deserted. Good. Less chance for someone to get hurt.

Dorian strode toward the practice dummies. He unslung his staff and aimed the first blast from a distance of perhaps fifty yards, not breaking his stride. The dummy exploded into a shower of sparks, the straw combusting on contact with the shock. A wave of his hand and steam hissed from the target. He began to run, twisting and spinning as he did so, putting forth a barrage of projectiles from his staff and his hands.

The few people who were lounging near the practice ring turned tail and retreated. Dorian bombarded the mannequins with magic, twirling his staff so quickly he could hear it whine through the air, then slamming it to earth. The exertion brought a sheen of sweat to his skin, cooling him against the energy which crackled all around. The whole area felt charged, his lightning hitting the targets with unerring accuracy, the smell of ozone and burnt hay heavy in the air.

He leaned into the power, drawing comfort from it. Even in battle, he seldom allowed himself this luxury. Too busy running around, keeping barriers on Cadash and Bull as they hurled themselves recklessly in front of the enemy. Dorian needed this. He needed to feel something, fully and completely, without reserve, even if that something was fury.

There was an edge, and Dorian was riding it. His mana began to deplete faster than he could recover it. Someone was yelling his name; it sounded tinny and distant. He ignored it, the power wreathing all around him, visible now, a swirling veil, a second skin. Just a little more. Just...

He let loose an energy barrage, a sigil twice his height blasting from his chest. Dozens of bolts struck like vipers, rendering what remained of the dummies to ash. He fell to one knee, panting.

“Dorian.”

The mage heaved his breath into his lungs. It took him a moment to recognize the voice; he half-expected it to be Cullen.

It was Solas. The elf knelt next to him, putting a hand under his chin and raising his face. He looked at Dorian clinically, then nodded at someone behind them.

Dorian turned his head. A large crowd had gathered - most of the inner circle and advisors, plus quite a few Chargers and a few dozen others. Barris was there, his eyes wide as saucers. He was holding the shoulder of a Templar next to him, as if pulling the woman back. Cullen was there as well, anguish written all over his face.

“I assure you, I’m in no danger of becoming an abomination,” Dorian panted to Solas.

Solas chuckled derisively. “I am well aware of that. However, the others require... assurance. I merely provide it to them. Do you require assistance to stand? That was quite a display of power.”

“No,” Dorian said. He began to heave himself up, then wobbled forward. There were footsteps behind him.

“No need, Commander. Allow me to help a fellow mage,” Solas said, pulling Dorian to stand with surprising strength.

Cullen was, indeed, standing there, looking for all the world like a concerned lover. Dorian frowned. The scowl seemed to snap the Commander out of it, and he assembled his face into a more neutral expression.

“I believe it would be best for you to accompany me to the rotunda,” Solas said under his breath.

Dorian glanced around the crowd. There were many looks of concern, but also dozens of frightened faces. He swore under his breath, then nodded.

Once back in the keep, there were two steaming cups of herbal tea waiting on Solas’ desk. The elf chuckled when he saw them. “Cole,” he said. “Come out where we can see you, please.”

The spirit flickered to existence by the scaffolding. “It soothes, the smell reminds him of his auntie.”

Solas handed a cup to Dorian. He sipped it, then sank on to the couch at the edge of the room. “You’re right. She drank gallons of this stuff. How she stood it, I’ll never know. Tastes like sour paper. Thank you, Cole. It’s appreciated.” He took another sip, then set the cup down. “I suppose I owe you thanks as well. For keeping the rabid dogs at bay,” Dorian drawled.

Solas tilted his head. “Of course. Though I admit, I was surprised to see such a display, especially coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“Only that you’ve been careful not to let your true power show. You wield with finesse and grace. For a human, at any rate.” Solas smirked.

Dorian rolled his eyes at the dig. “Yes, well, my pariah-hood doesn’t leave much room for showing off.” He swore under his breath. “I’m going to have to watch my back even more carefully now. Damn. I shouldn’t have lost control.”

“But you did not lose control. On the contrary, you showed exquisite control. And I think you’ll find that may benefit your standing in Skyhold.”

“How so?” Dorian was skeptical.

“Before, you represented the human's worst fears about themselves. Secretive, arrogant, decadent, and with some unknown power only hinted at in southern tales to frighten children.” Solas said.

“You’re really not good at making people feel better, are you?”

The elf smiled. “But now, they’ve seen the extent of your power, and the skill with which you wield it. Even the most bigoted among them will have to admit that you did not harm anyone, and that your magic is a thing of deadly beauty. The mystery has been revealed, the dagger unsheathed. You are no greater or worse than the rest of us, now. They will come around.”

Dorian sighed heavily. He was exhausted. “I hope you’re right. I suppose if you’re not, it won’t matter much to me anyway. If there are any Templars still plotting my untimely demise, they just saw exactly what I can do.”

“Let us hope I am correct, then.” Solas noted, dryly.

“You’re so very reassuring, Solas.”


	10. A Failure to Communicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes more talking isn't the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So much smut. Just... hope you like smut, folks.

After his flashy display in the courtyard, Dorian planned to hide in his room for the rest of the day. There was a flaw in this strategy; namely, it didn’t take anyone else into account. Hence, there was a knock on his door just after sunset.

“Bull, go away,” Dorian shouted through the door.

A muffled voice could be heard. “Ha! He thinks it’s the Chief.”

Dorian opened the door. “Krem?”

It wasn’t just Krem. It was all of the Chargers, crowded into the hallway. “C’mon, we’re getting drinks. You’re coming,” Krem laughed. “Guest of honor.”

“What? Why?” Dorian frowned skeptically.

“If I were a mage, which I’m _not,”_ Dalish said, “I would say you were phenomenal today, all those spells, cast so prettily. Obviously, I know nothing about it.”

“Come on, don’t be a snob. Let us buy you a few rounds. You made me proud to be a ‘Vint,” Krem pulled his sleeve.

A flustered, protesting Dorian was therefore prodded into making an appearance at the Herald’s Rest. Privately, he had to admit he was glad of the company. His quarters were too small for extended pouting.

To no one’s surprise, Cadash was there “Sparkler!” she yelled as Dorian walked in, raising her sloshing tankard.

“You really earned your nickname today,” Krem smirked. “Never seen anything like it. Wish we had a little of that on the field that time with the giants.”

“Hey!” Dalish protested. “He’s right though,” she admitted. “On account of we don’t have a mage.”

The Chargers formed a crush at the bar, so Dorian made his way to their normal table with Krem. Amazingly, the other patrons in the tavern weren’t scurrying off, averting their eyes, or openly glaring at him. Well, a few were, but most gave him nods of respect. Dorian even had a few mild smiles lobbed in his direction, and he swore a pair of Templars raised their glasses to him. Well. Solas was right. Would wonders never cease?

Cadash sauntered up. “Why don’t you have a drink yet?” She seemed offended at his lack of beverage.

“I just got here,” he explained.

“Whatever. You’ve been holding out on me, Pavus. How come you never pull any of those fancy moves on the battlefield?” Cadash scowled.

“Because I’m too busy maintaining barriers on you and Bull. I don’t know which of you has the bigger deathwish,” Dorian said. “Where is Bull, anyway?”

Krem shrugged. “If he’s not here or in a fight, he’s probably making somebody’s dreams come true.”

Cadash shuddered. “Not mine.”

“Yes, well, we all know dwarves don’t dream,” Dorian said. “Which is good. I think yours would involve rather a lot of hideous yellow plaideweave.” He raised an eyebrow, looking up into the balcony. Sera was gazing down at them. Well, at Cadash. As soon as she was spotted she made a rude gesture with her hands and disappeared.

Cadash narrowed her eyes. “I think this has gone on just a bit too long, wouldn’t you say, gents? Time to shit or get off the pot.” Though she addressed Krem and Dorian, her eyes were trained on the empty space in the balcony. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, straightened her shoulders, and nodded as if making up her mind before striding purposefully up the stairs.

Krem’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? The crazy elf?” he said to Dorian, who shrugged. “I had no idea.”

Dorian began to respond, glancing over his shoulder as the door opened. “There’s no accounting for -” Dorian's voice died.

Bull and Cullen stood in the doorway. Bull had his hand on Cullen's shoulder, as if reassuring him.

“-Taste,” Dorian finished the phrase, looking at Cullen, who was looking at him.

Dorian didn’t know what to make of it. For one thing, Cullen appeared just on the near side of miserable, physically. His skin was ashen, with dark circles under his eyes. But the expression on his face took Dorian a moment to recognize.

It was _longing._

Dorian didn’t do ‘longing’ and more than he did ‘nuzzles’. He might’ve dabbled in his youth, true, thanks to Rilienus, but the whole concept had been tossed in the trash ages ago. And Dorian had certainly never seen anyone fix him with that look.

Krem snorted in derision and went to go get a drink. Dorian didn’t notice, his brain still puzzling over why Cullen could possibly be looking at him like that, when Dorian had behaved so badly. There was no time to think about this, because one puzzle was replaced by another: why Cullen was striding towards him, a relieved smile on his face. And then yet another: why Cullen sat next to him, saying his name with such warmth.

“Cullen,” Dorian greeted him tentatively.

“I owe you an apology,” Cullen said.

“I think you must be confused. I’m supposed to be the one saying that,” Dorian said. “You’ve got your lines mixed up. I apologize, you decide I’m not worth the trouble, we both go back to the way things were before this whole mess started. Here, I’ll start: Cullen, I’m sorry. Now you. I suggest nodding politely and saying something about being just friends. It’s a popular option.”

Cullen was laughing. “Dorian, stop being ridiculous.”

“Oh, I’m ridiculous now. Wonderful.”

“You were absolutely right to be angry,” Cullen insisted.

Dorian narrowed his eyes. Cullen appeared to be sincere. “Maybe, but I had no right to lose control like that. I could’ve hurt someone.”

“But you didn’t lose control. I’ve never seen spellcraft so finely honed. Garrett came close, but even still, he lacked your precision.” Cullen said.

“Garrett?”

“Oh. Ah. Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall.” Cullen clarified nervously.

There was a story there, Dorian could smell it. Still. Things were too tenuous to risk bringing up ancient history. “I’m glad my skill meets with your approval,” Dorian said dryly. “Is this a thing for you, then? Mages, I mean. Am I just some kind of forbidden fruit?”

He hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. He’d intended to say something vaguely seductive, not reveal a deeply-seated insecurity. That's the trouble with fear. Once it gets a foothold, it’ll find even the smallest conversational opening to reveal itself.

Cullen blanched. “No,” he said, horrified. “I mean, I hold you in high regard, but... no, I would never - do you really think -” The man looked like he was about to be sick. Cullen stood suddenly, just in time to jostle the full tankard of ale being held by Bull as he walked up behind.

“Whoa, Cullen. Hey, you alright? Looking a little paler than usual.” Bull said, rearing back in surprise as Cullen pushed past him and out of the tavern.

“What the fuck did you do?” Bull frowned at Dorian. “Took me an hour to convince him to come see you.”

Dorian buried his face in his hands. “What do you think happened? I have a mouth, and words came out of it.” He leaned back in his chair.

Bull stood there, staring, as he took a long sip from his tankard.

“What?” Dorian said after a moment.

“I’m wondering what the hell you’re still doing here,” Bull said pointedly.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Is that your clever way of telling me to go after him?”

“You think?”

Grumbling, Dorian stood. “There’d better be some fantastic sex in store. I don’t chase people, Bull.”

“I’ll make you a deal. If he turns you down, I’ll take care of you myself.” Bull grinned.

There was a dim light in the Commander’s tower. Dorian knocked, then unlatched the door as the man’s muffled voice called “it’s open”.

The mage leaned in the doorway without entering. “Care to take me up on the apology I offered before? I have a wide variety to choose from, all carefully crafted from a lifetime of disappointing others.”

Cullen was sitting at his desk, a single candle casting bleak shadows. “Do you really think so little of me, that you think I see you as nothing but a mage?”

A wry smile found its way to Dorian's face. He walked inside, shutting the door behind him. “It’s more a case of not understanding why you’re interested in me at all, frankly. We had our fun, and then things got difficult. What possible other reason could there be for your continued interest?” He flung himself into the chair across from Cullen. Since he’d already revealed his fears, might as well just be blunt.

“I could ask you the same question,” Cullen said, fixing him with a pointed look. “And yet you’re here.”

“You have Bull to thank for that.” Dorian examined his fingernails. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me. As you know, he can be very persuasive. And of course, yesterday was arguably one of the best nights I’ve ever had. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for a repeat performance. But given that I behaved abominably, and that you no doubt have your pick of more experienced partners that wouldn’t... do whatever it was that I did wrong this morning? I was rather afraid that you were only after the mana, not the man.”

Cullen didn’t speak for a moment. “What if I’m not?”

Dorian blinked. “Not what?”

“Not only after the mana. What if I’m after the man? What would happen then?”

Dorian's mouth hung open. He’d given the Commander several openings to reject Dorian while still saving face, and yet the man stubbornly refused to take them. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Cullen leaned back. “I’m not shopping for rings if that's what you’re asking.”

“Then what are you asking? Need I remind you, I am but a humble Tevinter, unschooled in the ways of the south. What you seem to be saying would be impossible for me, back home.” Dorian noted.

Cullen sighed sadly. “I keep forgetting that. What I’m saying is, I enjoy your company in many ways. The... things that we did last night.... It takes a fair amount of trust, but it can be so much more than what we shared. Surely, in the benighted north two people can agree to enjoy each other’s company, even in secret?”

“Ah! You want an _arrangement,”_ Dorian said, relief flooding through him. Finally, something he could understand.

“Is that different from a relationship?” Cullen smiled.

“Oh yes. None of those pesky feelings getting in the way. Always lead to disappointment, do feelings. I can’t abide by them.” Dorian said, adjusting the buckles on his shoulder.

Since he was not looking, he missed the tightness that appeared around the Commander’s eyes, a wince of sadness. “I see.”

There was a pause while they regarded each other. “So. I believe I asked you a question this morning, Commander, and it never got answered.”

“What question is that?”

“What happens now?” Dorian's gaze was direct, his lips already parted in anticipation. He knew quite well what was about to happen.

“Before I answer that, I have to tell you - I won’t hear any more of this ‘I did something wrong’ nonsense,” Cullen said. “What happened this morning was completely my fault. I need you to understand that.”

Dorian held his tongue.

“Dorian,” Cullen chided.

Dorian sighed in exasperation. “Fine, fine. I don’t understand. You said I... went under... too fast. Clearly you have some experience in these matters. I have to assume that if I had been doing it correctly, you’d have avoided the whole situation.”

Cullen started shaking his head before Dorian had even finished. “That’s not how it works. You didn’t do anything too fast or too slow. The other people I’ve... been with,” Cullen shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “They required a certain amount of... encouragement to get into that state. The fact that you can accomplish it so easily is...” He let a whoosh of breath through his lips. “Quite something.”

“What kind of encouragement?” Dorian asked.

Cullen regarded him carefully. “Pain, for the most part.”

It was Dorian's turn to take a deep breath and shift in his seat. “I see,” he said.

“Does the idea trouble you?” Cullen asked.

“That's not the word I'd use, no.” Dorian remarked.

Cullen gave a wry smirk. “And what word would you use?”

“Oh, let's see. ‘Fascinate’, perhaps? Definitely ‘interest’. I would add ‘arouse’ to the list, tentatively. Never having done it, I only have some descriptions from sordid Tevinter erotica and the depths of my own imagination to rely on. I am absolutely in favor of getting a taste, seeing for myself.”

“And what else has your imagination suggested?” Cullen had a glint in his eye.

“I believe there was talk of tying me up? I have to admit, I've thought of little else for weeks.” Dorian was quite proud of how level and confident his voice was. Not that he'd practiced saying this or anything. Not aloud, anyway.

The grin on the Commander's face was something to see. “Weeks? Hmm. Since before I suggested it last night, then. When was the first time?”

Dorian froze. _Damn._ He'd steered the conversation in a direction that made an uncomfortable confession rather more likely than he wanted. And he'd been doing so well with being confident and assured. Though, the thought of being ordered to tell Cullen he'd brought himself to pleasure thinking about it was enough; he felt his will began to drain away.

“I asked you a question.” Cullen’s voice was intent.

Dorian swallowed hard. “Before I left for the Emerald Graves.” The confidence and assurance were definitely lacking in his tone.  

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “That long?” He made an appreciative sound with his tongue. “And what did you do, when you thought about it?”

There was nothing for it. Dorian could no more disobey than he could look away from the Commander's steady gaze. His breath came shallow and fast. It did not occur to him to lie. “I touched myself.” The admission was made in a whisper, though it seemed to echo in the room.

“Did you now.” Cullen hummed in appreciation. “I wish I'd been there to see it.” There was a pause. The inevitability of what was coming next hung in the air, thick and close. “Show me.”

He was trembling, he knew. Somehow Dorian lacked the ability to care at the moment. He rose to his feet, slowly. The speed was not intended as a tease, the way he had last night. It was more to allow room for the tingling anticipation that lit up his veins from within.

Dorian began to remove his tunic. Cullen's slight frown was enough to give him pause. “Is this what you did, the other night?” Cullen asked.

Dorian nodded, his mouth dry.

“Do you normally take off all your clothes when you pleasure yourself?”

“No,” Dorian said.

“Better and better. I didn't say to stop,” Cullen’s reminder was gentle.

They didn't speak as Dorian peeled away his clothing. When he stood, shivering, naked, it was all he could do to breathe, as the fantasy closed in on reality. It was utterly unlike the other night. Dorian's nudity was now an offering, not a tease. He felt the hazy fog take hold in his mind.

“Wait,” Cullen said. He rose swiftly and locked the doors.

Dorian sighed with relief. The fact that anyone could walk in had not been lost in him. That sigh turned into a whimper as Cullen began to circle him, just exactly as Dorian had imagined. “You may continue.”

Letting his eyes flutter closed, Dorian took hold of his cock. He wasn't fully hard, but the sound of Cullen's heels clicking on the stone was helping that along.

“Eyes open.”

Hissing, Dorian complied. His hips bucked into his hand as he stroked himself.

“And this is how you did it?” Cullen asked.

“I... started like this,” Dorian gasped.

“Started? I'm intrigued. This was quite a project, Dorian. What else did you do?” Cullen was behind him, leaning over his shoulder to speak into Dorian's ear.

Dorian paused fractionally. Cullen had allowed him to ask a question yesterday. “Do you want me to show you or tell you?”

Cullen spun him around with dizzying speed, his face stern.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Dorian gasped, breathless. A knot of panic twisted in him. “I didn't mean to do it wrong! I'm sorry!” The apologies spilled out of him.

“It's alright,” Cullen said. “Shh, you didn't do anything wrong. Maker, but you're precious. Here.” Cullen pulled Dorian's hand away from himself and engulfed him in an embrace.

Dorian clung to him, still shivering. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“I know.” Cullen pulled away. “From now on, when you have a question, or you need something, address me as Commander.”

“Yes, Commander,” Dorian murmured. He wasn't sure if he imagined the shudder that he felt in Cullen's body, or if it was simply his own form reacting to the _rightness_ of the word, the way it felt on his lips. He’d been saying it for months, but now he finally understood the meaning. And as it had with their first kiss, Dorian felt something shift, another piece of the puzzle snapping into place with a satisfying click.

Cullen held him for a long moment. “Now. I want you to continue. Tell me what you did.” He stroked Dorian's hair and shoulders, a gentle, reassuring touch.

Dorian’s lips were cradled into the crook of Cullen's neck. He wanted so badly to taste the man's skin; it was so close, so tempting. He moaned in frustration, rocking upwards against Cullen. “I knelt.” Dorian let his lips trace over Cullen's skin.

It was Cullen's turn to moan. “Beautiful. What else?”

“I filled myself with my fingers, imagining it was you.”

Cullen was growing hard. Dorian could feel him pressing up against his thigh. “What did you imagine?”

“I thought about you tying my hands, bending me over that desk, fucking me just the way you pleased.” The need to lick, to taste was becoming overwhelming. Dorian moaned again. “Please, Commander. I want to... can I....” His resolve broke; he started kissing Cullen's neck without finishing the question, tiny flutters of his lips.

“Yes.” Cullen's voice was all breath.

Dorian groaned, greedy for it. He let his lips trace hot and open across the man's stubble, following with his tongue, then teeth. Cullen ground against him, his dark moans almost growls. “Ah, that's good. Good. Yes.”

He let Dorian continue until they were both panting. Cullen grasped his ass, teasing. And then there was a smack.

It was hard enough to sting, but not cross the line into genuine pain. Dorian reared his head back in surprise.

Cullen was watching him carefully. “How did that feel?”

Blinking in confusion, Dorian answered with wide eyes. “I'm not sure. Commander,” he added hastily.

“I'm going to do it ten more times," Cullen said. “And then you're going to tell me if you like it or not. If you're still not sure, that's fine. Once I'm done, I won't do it again today. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Commander.”

This time there was no mistaking the frisson of pleasure that wove through Cullen. Dorian felt an echo of it, knowing he could bring the man pleasure with such a small thing as a title.

Cullen brought Dorian over to the desk. Sweeping all the books and parchment to the floor, he placed Dorian's forearms on the wood.

The first spank came without warning. Again, it was hard enough to sting, but not painful. “Count down from ten,” Cullen said.

Dorian had barely said the word 'ten' before the next came, harder this time. He gasped through nine, eight, and seven. The sensation was definitely edging into pain. His skin felt hot and tight.

Cullen paused for a long moment, smoothing his hands over Dorian's skin. The anticipation had him breathless, his hips making tiny motions. Cullen chuckled.

At the next smack, Dorian gave a keening cry. There was no denying the pain, now. It burned, but then ebbed into a warmth unlike anything he'd experienced. “Six,” he choked.

“Very good,” came the reply, and Dorian felt the fringes of a grin on his own face. Cullen had gone back to his easy caresses.

Five. Five was like being baptized by fire. Dorian's head arched back as he hissed the number, no longer able to control the bucking of his hips. “Please,” he said.

“Please what?”

“Please - Commander, can... can I...” Dorian gasped. Cullen had told him to count down, but he hadn’t told him to do anything else.

“What do you want, Dorian?”

“Can I say... other things?” He grimaced.

“Maker’s breath, how are you so perfect? Yes, you can say other things.” Dorian felt Cullen's cock sliding gently along the crease of his ass.

Dorian nodded, letting his head hang heavy on his neck, trying to relax before the next blow.

Cullen was once again drawing his hands over the tender flesh. It felt impossibly soft.

“That feels... good,” Dorian gasped, still breathing heavy.

“Does it?” Cullen suddenly drew his hand away. Dorian clenched his whole body, anticipating the smack.

When it failed to land, Dorian ground his teeth together and groaned. Cullen repeated the process several times. Eventually, Dorian forced his body to relax, the flinches growing weaker and then nonexistent.

This made the blow which did land all the more powerful. Dorian actually slid forward on the desk, his arms skidding on the wood. “FourfuckithurtspleaseCommanderplease,” he squeaked.

“Oh, that is simply beautiful,” Cullen said. He landed the final three blows with a few seconds in between, Dorian maintaining a steady streams of pleas and curses in the intervals.

He was sobbing by one. Not crying, though tears had seeped from the creases of his eyelids. Dorian was hiccuping and choking, incoherent curses fighting for space among his breaths. There was a drop of moisture on the desk; Dorian wasn’t sure if it was sweat or tears or possibly drool; he’d lost the ability to care.

Cullen came around to the other side of the desk, squatting down to Dorian's level. “Exquisite,” he breathed, bringing a finger up under Dorian's chin. “I cannot possibly tell you how beautiful you are right now, Dorian.”

The mage could do little else but blink gratefully, still trying to get his breathing under control.

“How do you feel?”

“Good,” Dorian said, his voice hoarse. The spanking added a euphoric edge to the static in his mind. He hadn’t been expecting that; suddenly he understood why people enjoyed it so much.

Cullen stood and left his field of vision. There was the sound of clinking and water being poured, then the Commander returned with a cup. “Here,” he said.

Dorian carefully lifted himself off the table, not trusting his muscles. He didn’t stand all the way up, leaning heavily on the desk as he gulped the water.

When he set the empty cup down, Cullen bent forward over the desk and kissed him. The kiss was the polar opposite of the pain he’d meted out. The sweetness was something Dorian had almost never experienced, certainly not since Rilienus. Such kisses were dangerous; they spoke of love, not lust. Even the idea would normally send Dorian into a panic. Yet the static in his brain allowed him to sink into it, to enjoy the sensation without filtering it through the fear of rejection and loss.

And that's when the tears came. Hot and silent, they coursed down his cheeks. Cullen reared back when the moisture hit his hands, which were cupping Dorian's cheeks. There was a momentary flash of concern as he assessed Dorian's expression, and then he relaxed and nodded. “Oh, Dorian. Dorian, what did I ever do to deserve this moment? Maker, but you’re beautiful.” He wiped the tears away with his thumbs, then kissed him again.

Gradually, the heat returned, as Cullen began to nibble at Dorian's lips. When the mage was whimpering into his mouth, the Commander pulled back. “Are you ready?”

Dorian nodded eagerly. Cullen leaned down and pulled a length of rope from a desk drawer, watching Dorian's reaction.

“Oh yes, please,” Dorian whispered.

“Please what?” Cullen was smiling.

“Please Commander.” Dorian smiled too.

Cullen guided him back down to the desk. It was long, but relatively narrow. Dorian was arranged so that his chest and shoulders were flush with the wood, his head hanging off the desk, his hands tied wide apart.

The rope was smooth silk, not rough hemp. Dorian twisted his wrists within the loops, drinking in the sensation, testing it.

Cullen smiled down at him indulgently. “Any discomfort?”

“No, Commander,” Dorian said quietly. He tried to drag his gaze from his wrists up to Cullen's face, but got caught halfway but the straining bulge in Cullen's breeches. He licked his lips.

“Ah, that's beautiful. You want to taste this?” Cullen asked, gently tugging on the laces.

“Yes. Oh yes, please, Commander, yes,” Dorian breathed.

“Maker,” Cullen's voice was raspy. “Perfect.” He pulled his trousers off, shucking them over his thighs so slowly that Dorian's hips began to rut against the air.

He stepped forward, holding a hand on the top of Dorian's head and one under his chin. “You sucked me so nicely yesterday,” he said. “I think I’d like to fuck your face. Can you do that for me?”

Dorian squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “Fuck, yes. Commander,” he added, his want almost making him forget the rules.

“Open, just open,” Cullen said.

Dorian's mouth was already open, and he moaned loudly when Cullen inserted his cock. Dorian had never experienced this angle before; it was perfect. Cullen's hands held his head steady - all he had to do was take it.

Cullen thrust up and into his mouth, muttering half-words and curses. Dorian barely heard them over his own moans. And then Cullen went deeper, never more than a second or two, but just brushing up against the limit of what Dorian could take.

It was just so good. Tasting and smelling Cullen was cause for enjoyment enough, but the sounds coming from the Commander’s mouth were downright sinful. Dorian's hips moved in time to the motions of Cullen's cock. “Ah, yes, fuck, Dorian, that's so good,” Cullen said. “Show me how good it’s going to be to fuck you.”

After a few more seconds, Cullen pulled away with a snarl. He squatted down to eye level with Dorian. “Someday I’m going to let you taste me. Would you like that, you think? For me to spill in your mouth, have you swallow every drop?” His voice was rough, but the trace of his fingers over Dorian's hairline was gentle.

“Fuck, yes, Commander,” Dorian gritted through his teeth. His hips were still moving. “You taste so good, I just, I want, I want to, can I please?”

Cullen kissed him, hard. “Maker, but you’re tempting. No. Not today. Not when I need to take you so badly. Do you know how hard it was, not to take you before? Watching that skin get so red for me, listening to you moan and beg? I wanted to fuck you then, just take you, hard, so hard, make you forget everything but my cock.”

Dorian whined. “Please, Commander, anything, just please, take me, I need...” There were so many things Dorian needed then that the words failed him utterly.

And then Cullen was standing and moving. Dorian felt his hand a moment later, stilling the movement of the mage’s hips. Then his legs being kicked wide, and a stream of oil pouring down his crease, dripping down his balls and aching cock. And then a finger, pushing insistently.

“Yes,” Dorian gasped in relief as the digit made a slow slide into him, not pausing. He thrust three times, slow and steady, then another finger was added. Dorian relaxed into the pressure, feeling the fingers spread him, the stretch with the hint of a burn.

Cullen was soon twisting three fingers in and out, groaning as if it was his cock inside Dorian. “Are you ready?”

“Maker, yes, please, I’m ready I’m ready, Commander, yes.” Dorian warbled, not even finishing the words before Cullen pushed his cock into him, just the head.

“Can you take it?” Cullen asked. “Don’t lie.”

“Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes. I can. I promise. I can, Commander, please,” Dorian grimaced, fighting the urge to buck backwards, knowing he’d get what he wanted if he just held still.

Cullen slammed home. They both shouted curses, and Cullen retreated slowly. He paused, then repeated the motion, this time raking his fingernails over the cheeks of Dorian's ass.

Dorian's head snapped back as far as it would go. He tried to shout; hell, he tried to scream, but no noise came from his mouth, his breath trapped in his lungs.

“Maker, yes,” Cullen growled. “Do you want more?”

Dorian babbled incoherently. Something must’ve made sense because there was more. Much more. Cullen's cock was hitting him exactly in the right place, the explosions of pleasure precisely balanced by the streaks of burning sting from his fingernails. And then the two began to merge, the pain somehow heightening the pleasure, and there was more and more. Cullen was fucking him into the desk, his hands scraping down Dorian's back, and the man was grunting and growling and it was faster and harder and the peak was there, _right there,_ Dorian was racing towards it, his whining moans a rhythmic _ungh-ungh-ungh,_ percussed by the thrusts of Cullen's cock.

“Come, Dorian,” Cullen grunted. “Come. For. Me.” Each word was a slam of his cock, repeated over and over. “Come. For. Me.” Cullen reached around so that Dorian was fucking into his hand.

The pulses seemed to come from deep inside him, a vague rumbling that gathered force until he was exploding with it, screaming into the whiteness behind his eyes. Cullen's answering shout came a few seconds later, and with it the man’s body covering his own, their sweat-slicked skin crushed together. Dorian felt the last few pulses of the man’s release inside his over-sensitive body, a counterpoint to the pace of their breath.

Dorian also felt Cullen swallow hard. “Are you okay?” Cullen's voice was gentle, and just a tad hoarse.

“Yes,” Dorian said. “Though, I need to get up.”

“Of course,” Cullen said, lifting himself away.

Dorian gave a small noise of protest at the sudden lack of contact. He still felt fuzzy, disconnected, somehow aware of every tiny sensation. “This is nice,” he said, not able to prevent the words from coming out, not able to care how inane and sincere they sounded.

Cullen was kneeling in front of him, untying the bindings. “I know,” he said.

“Kiss me?” Dorian might later come to regret this, but now, all he wanted was to feel that kiss from before, the one that had broken something open.

Cullen leaned forward and gave him what he wanted. And now Dorian's hands were free, and he could run his own fingers through the thick blond hair, down the line of Cullen's neck. “Dorian. Dorian,” Cullen breathed. It sounded like a prayer.

Cullen broke away with reluctance a moment later. “If you don’t stand up soon, you’re going to have trouble walking.”

Dorian nodded. The haze was beginning to clear and the twinge in his lower back was evident.

There was a few minutes of cleaning up and retrieving clothing. Neither spoke. Finally, there was no choice.

“Would you like to stay?” Cullen asked. “I know I can’t offer you a roof. But you can see the stars.”

Dorian gave a tentative smirk. “Isn’t it a mite cold, Cullen?”

“Well, I don’t know this for sure, but I’m thinking it might be warmer with two. We could try and see. Purely for the sake of argument.” Cullen smiled.

Dorian knew once he stepped outside the door, whatever spell Cullen had worked on him would be broken. Already he could feel it begin to fray around the edges. “In that case, yes, I’ll stay.”

“Good. Good,” Cullen repeated, his smile broadening.

“You’re letting me cast a heat spell, though, if it gets too cold.”

“Of course,” Cullen laughed, following him up the ladder. “Anything for you.”


	11. A New Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen has a nightmare, and Dorian finds a new way to help him sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er, mind the tags?

Dorian awoke to Cullen's fist making contact with the side of his head. Cullen thrashed, flailing in the semi-darkness, shouting gibberish in his sleep.

Reeling from the blow, Dorian slumped out of the bed to his knees, prodding gently at the egg which was rapidly swelling above his temple. “Cullen,” he said, squinting against the pain. “Cullen, wake up.”

The man didn’t respond. Dorian made his way to the wash basin and scooped a cup of water. He cast a barrier on himself, just in case. In the dark, his form glowed faintly blue, spreading an otherworldly hue through the room. Dorian splashed the cold liquid into Cullen's face.

Sure enough, the Commander awoke, though for one sickening moment he was disoriented and ready for a fight. Dorian took another step back.

“Dorian?” Cullen blinked slowly. “Maker’s breath. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“You have a mean left hook,” Dorian said dryly, putting his hand to his temple. “Lucky for me you weren’t trying.” He dampened a cloth and held it to the side of his head, hissing in pain.

“Oh no,” Cullen whispered. “Sweet Andraste, I did hurt you. Here, hold on, I have a potion.” He rolled from the bed and rooted through the chest in the corner.

Dorian accepted the proffered bottle and took a swig, the bitter taste of elfroot numbing his mouth. “Don’t tell Cadash I’m taking one of the Inquisition potions. She’ll have me gathering herbs for the rest of time.” Dorian sighed in relief as the pain in his head lessened.

“They’re not Inquisition potions. It’s... my own personal store,” Cullen muttered. He ran his hand through his hair and then down to the back of his neck.

From the way he avoided Dorian's gaze, the mage knew better than to question him about why he needed a stash of healing potions for personal use. Not that Dorian wasn’t wildly curious, of course. But if you ask a personal question, you’ll get a personal answer. And their situation was already about as intimate as Dorian could handle.

“You alright?” Dorian asked instead.

Cullen's head shot up. “Aside from punching my... punching you in the head, you mean?”

There was another question that would go unasked, what possessive descriptor Cullen had been about to use. “I’m ever so considerate, or hadn’t you heard?” Dorian said.

“Apparently,” Cullen sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Dorian said, and he meant it. “You’re not the only one with nightmares.”

“Yes, well, I’m awake now. You can drop the barrier,” Cullen said, his voice dull. “I won’t be sleeping again tonight.” He shook out his hands, stretching his fingers.

Dorian released his magic. A part of him desperately wanted to leave, to not get more involved. With almost any other lover, Dorian simply would have left. But he wasn’t friends with his other lovers. Except one. Who never seemed to have this problem.

Cullen was looking at him. Dorian realized his mouth was open as if he was about to speak. He settled for a chuckle. “I’m trying to think of what Bull would do, if he were here,” he admitted.

“Assuming his horns fit through the trapdoor, you mean?”

Dorian grinned. “I’ll allow it. He always seems to know when people need help or just need to be left alone. A skill I lack.”

Cullen snorted. “How could you possibly want to stay? I gave you a concussion.”

“You helped me, the other night,” Dorian shrugged. “It only seems fair.” He took a tentative step back towards the bed.

“I didn’t help you so you’d feel obligated to me.” Cullen sank his face into his hands, but not before Dorian could see them shaking.

Dorian didn’t know what caused Cullen's nightmares, but he recognized their aftermath, the combination of self-pity and self-loathing which sapped everything, drained everything. He’d fallen down that slippery slope himself, many, many times. And he knew how to nip it in the bud, pull Cullen up short.

“Too bad,” Dorian tut-tutted, in his most imperious tone. “You should’ve thought of that before you decided we should be friends. Or is that not how friendship works? Perhaps I missed a dispatch on the subject.” He leaned his weight on one hip.

He was rewarded with the sound of Cullen laughing weakly into his hands. “You... how are you so --” he muttered, cutting his words short. “I already told you, I won’t sleep again. You needn’t stay.”

“So confident you won’t sleep, eh?” Dorian smirked. “I think I can make you tired.”

Cullen shook his head. “The last thing I need is a sleep spell.” His voice was rough.

“Who said anything about a spell?”

Cullen raised his head slowly. Dorian smirked as comprehension washed over Cullen's face. He stalked another step closer.

The first hints of a grin were starting to evidence themselves on Cullen's face. There was a tiny twinkle in his eye, and his scar hitched upwards. It was absurdly sexy, and also completely unfair that the man could look so irresistible with so little effort.

The final step took Dorian close enough to stand between Cullen's knees. The chill in the tower had been severe enough that Cullen had loaned Dorian a nightshirt to wear. It was a bit too big, the neckline gaping open to reveal Dorian's shoulder.

Cullen raised his face to look up at Dorian. He had that expression, the one from earlier, in the tavern. The one that made Dorian frown in concern. The one that said a lot more than Dorian wanted to hear.

“What did you have in mind?” Cullen said, his eyes, mercifully, roving down Dorian's body. He brought his hands to slide behind Dorian's thighs, inching upwards slowly.

“Oh, I can think of lots of things,” Dorian said. “I am a masseur par excellence, you know.”

“Are you really.” Cullen grinned up at him through his lashes.

“Quite. My skills were at one time very much in demand in the saunas of Vyrantium.”

A flash of a frown made itself known on Cullen's face. Not even a frown; more like a twinge of pain.

Dorian felt the sting of judgment. Well. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d pleasured someone who disapproved of his promiscuity. In a way, it helped, providing some much-needed distance between himself and Cullen. Wouldn’t do to become _too_ fond of the man.

“On your stomach. Clothes off.” Dorian cast a heat spell, warming the room considerably. It wouldn’t last, of course; the heat would dissipate through the meager excuse for a roof. But for the moment, it was a blessed relief.

Cullen complied, laying in the center of his bed. Dorian swept the nightshirt off of himself, retrieving the oil from the nightstand. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Cullen had brought it upstairs.

“Could you... Could you make more of those lights? From the other night?” Cullen's voice was subdued.

“Of course,” Dorian smiled. “They _are_ rather soothing, I find.” Dorian made a few dozen bubbles of light, ranging in hue from golden to rosy, and set them aloft in the room.

Cullen watched, his head resting on his forearms. “Maker, but they’re beautiful.”

As he settled atop Cullen, straddling the man’s comically perfect thighs, Dorian smiled. “I’m glad you think so.” He poured a generous amount of oil across the man’s back and began to smooth it over his skin, warming it with a tinge of magic in his palms.

Cullen groaned loudly. “Oh, Maker.”

“It’s pronounced, ‘Dorian’. Door-ee-ahn.”

The laugh bubbling up in Cullen's chest was squashed into a moan as Dorian's fingers began working at a knot under his shoulder blade.

In fact, the sounds coming from Cullen were downright obscene. “Have you never had a massage?” Dorian asked, incredulous.

“I thought I ha-aaahhh oh Maker _yes.”_

Dorian's cock twitched at the sound. “Cullen, the point of this is to make you feel good, not me. Keep making those noises and I can’t be held responsible for my actions,” he quipped.

“I can’t help it. Oh, sweet Maker, Dorian, it feels so _good._ How is it possible for you to be so perfect?” Cullen murmured.

Dorian passed off the way he jerked his hands away from Cullen as a mere pause to apply more oil. The words were a cause for concern, especially outside the context of sex. Though, Dorian had made it pretty clear that sex was a distinct possibility. He forced himself to relax. Cullen surely didn’t mean anything by it, aside from trying to arouse Dorian.

Not that it took much effort. Dorian made his way down the man’s back, to his buttocks and thighs, down his legs to his feet. All the while, Cullen moaned shamelessly. Dorian's cock was more than halfway to hard when he had Cullen turn over to lay on his back.

Those amber eyes were heavy-lidded, glinting through his lashes at Dorian. The mage felt the man’s gaze take in his stiffening cock; Cullen gave a small smirk before allowing his eyes to close. Dorian began the proceedings again, this time working from the feet upwards. When he reached the apex of Cullen's legs, the man’s cock was clearly showing interest.

Dorian ignored it for the time being, sweeping his hands instead over Cullen's hips and stomach. When his fingers found the Commander’s nipples and brushed them with gentle thumbs, Cullen hissed, arching upwards.

With a hum of appreciation, Dorian repeated the gesture, harder this time. Without opening his eyes, Cullen writhed under him. “More.”

Dorian was only happy to oblige. Unlike his previous encounters with Cullen, Dorian's mind was quite clear and he was able to bring all of his considerable seduction skills to bear. It was comfortable; he’d done these things with countless men. Cullen was, therefore, no different. No risk that things would get too intimate without the set roles they’d established. He pinched the rosy skin, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. The moan which broke from Cullen's lips made Dorian's cock leap fully to attention.

Given that it was resting alongside Cullen's at that moment, there was no mistaking the sensation. Cullen's eyes flew open, and his hands flew up to Dorian's hips with the speed and strength of a warrior. A Commander.

Dorian sat still. “Cullen. Let me take care of you.”

Cullen's gaze was intent. Dorian wasn’t sure what he was looking for, exactly, but after a moment he nodded and let his hands fall.

“That’s better. Now please. Relax.”

“If I got any more relaxed I’d be in a coma,” Cullen noted.

“Famous last words.” Dorian slid down, coming to kneel between Cullen's thighs. He leaned down as slowly as his body would allow.

When his face was an inch above Cullen's now-hard cock, he paused, just breathing. Slowly, slowly, he dragged the very tip of his tongue from the base to the tip, pausing there to tease the slit.

“Ahh!” Cullen gasped. “Again. Please,” he softened the command.

“Like this?” Dorian did it again, slower, allowing the flat of his tongue to lick hot and wet, then following with a cool breath.

A stream of curses issued from Cullen's mouth as he wrenched his head up to look at Dorian. The muscles in his abdomen stood out in bold relief.

“My my, Cullen. That's quite naughty for a Chantry boy. Where did you learn to swear like that?” Dorian teased.

Cullen groaned. It gave Dorian pause, that sound. It was not a groan of lust, but of frustration. Cullen brought his hands up to clench in his hair.

Dorian leaned up to his elbows. “What’s the matter?”

Cullen shook his head from side to side. “Oh, Dorian. Dorian. I want so much from you. Too much. And I’m afraid that even by asking, I’ll chase you away.” He dragged his hands down to cover his eyes.

“I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?” Dorian narrowed his eyes.

“No. No, of course you didn’t. It’s me. I....” Cullen sighed, unable to finish the thought.

Dorian waited. It was a trick he’d learned from Bull. It always got him to talk, when Bull waited him out. Maybe it would work on Cullen as well.

Cullen looked up at the glowing spheres floating through his room. He seemed close to tears. After a long moment, he spoke. “I don’t want you to say things you think I want to hear. I don’t want tricks and teases and masks. I don’t want you to seduce me. I want to feel _your_ desire. I want _you.”_

This would normally be the point where the clockwork gears of Dorian's elaborate self-defense mechanism would spring to life, capturing the unwanted intimacy before it burrowed too deeply into his heart. Laugh it off, perhaps, or assume it was a lie. Plenty of options to choose from.

Yet somehow, those three words, _I want you,_ were enough to disable Dorian's defenses, a spanner thrown into the works. He blinked, his mind shocked into a blank stillness. Perhaps it was because he’d heard the words so many times before, they were able to slip through. How many men had murmured that exact phrase while he sucked patiently, or shouted it as they pounded into him?

But that was different. The emphasis had been on the want, not the you. In the grammar of sex, he’d always been the object, not the subject. Cullen was asking him to lay down his sword and shield, abandon all the tools of seduction at his disposal, to give himself, without even the excuse of domination.

If the fuzzy, hazy cloud that blanketed his mind under Cullen's will served to swaddle him, to block his emotional filters and allow him to feel, this was something else. What Cullen had asked left him defenseless, disarmed. He felt as if his skin was freshly scrubbed, naked and tingling and just a bit raw.

“Please say something,” Cullen said finally, as Dorian stared at him in consternation.

Dorian crawled up Cullen's body, leaning over him. “That’s why you flinched when I told you about the bathhouses, isn’t it?”

Cullen nodded.

“And here I thought you were judging me.” Dorian said with a wry smirk.

The protest leapt hot and sincere to Cullen's lips. “What? No! Dorian, I would never -”

Dorian laid a finger on Cullen's mouth. “You were right to worry. No one’s ever asked me for this. Save one, and that turned out to be a lie. To inhabit my own desire, to express my own need? It _is_ rather preposterous, Cullen.”

Nodding, Cullen began to push himself up. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“What are you doing?” Dorian asked, raising an eyebrow. “I just said it was preposterous. I didn’t say no.”

It was Cullen's turn to say nothing.

“Granted, this could be a huge mistake. Almost certainly. Still, at the moment, I can’t quite think of any reason not to. My mind has gone blank. Lucky for you.”

Cullen gasped an inhale as Dorian laid a finger along his cheek, then sank down for a kiss.

It was, in a word, perfect. Freed from the machinations of seduction, Dorian merely allowed himself to respond to Cullen, and to his own desire. Tongues slid effortlessly, lips sucked, teeth nipped, breaths shared.

And then his mouth was moving, along Cullen's jawline, his throat, his ear. All that mattered was the sensation of it, the way their bodies fit together. Cullen was moaning, now, his hands skimming up and down Dorian's back and shoulders.

When Dorian began rolling his hips, Cullen hissed. The sound drilled straight to Dorian's core, warmth exploding out into his limbs and cock. He reached down to twirl his fingers around Cullen, moaning at how good the man felt underneath him.

Dorian's lips hovered over the shell of Cullen's ear. “Cullen. Cullen, I know what I want.” His hips were relentless, bucking and rutting against the warrior, their cocks sliding against each other. “I know what I want.” He grasped Cullen's thigh and drew it up to curve around his back.

“You can have it,” Cullen gasped. “Oh, _yes._ I want you to take me. Sweet Maker yes.”

Dorian fumbled for the oil, pouring it sloppily on Cullen and his own hand. And then he reached lower, his fingertip circling the tight band of muscle at Cullen's entrance.

Biting at Cullen's neck, Dorian pushed a fingertip into him, groaning in unison with the Commander. Time seemed to stand still for them; it was forever that one finger was enough, and yet also forever for the second. And then Cullen's moans became more insistent, almost pleading, as his hand sought Dorian's length, guiding it to him even as he stroked.

It had been a long time. A very long time, in fact, since Dorian had last slid himself into someone, felt the tight heat, the resistance giving way. Cullen was kissing him, his hand on the back of the mage’s neck as they rocked together.

They moved, curled around each other. Dorian couldn’t get enough. There would never be enough of this -- the feeling of being buried so deep in Cullen, their lips and tongues matching their rhythm, the breath they shared, the thick silk of Cullen's hair twined in his fingers.

The climb was slow, built on each thrust, each buck of Cullen's hips to meet Dorian. Soon they were frantic, Dorian slamming into him as hard and fast as the position would allow.

“Ah - Cullen - I want... I want to feel you. I want to feel you come,” Dorian gasped out the words, staring into Cullen's eyes.

Cullen nodded and brought his hand down to stroke himself, chanting Dorian's name quietly at every thrust.

“Fuck, Cullen, it’s good.” Dorian shook his head rapidly, like a dog. He leaned upwards.

Cullen's eyes flew open, his breath heaving gulps at the change in angle. “Fuck!” he shouted. “There! Right there! Oh - fuck - Maker - Dorian, I’m - fuck.” The last word drew out for a long moment as he came, pulses of thick white fluid spurting all over his chest.

Dorian moaned when he felt Cullen's ass clenching around him, a high-pitched, breathy whine. His hips moved of their own accord, snapping into Cullen over and over, hard, the skin of their thighs smacking together. Dorian squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers digging into Cullen's hips.

By the time he came, erupting into Cullen, he was almost sobbing, overcome with sensation. It was long, the orgasm coming in waves that seemed endless, leaving him dizzy and breathless and covered in sweat.

Dorian sank weakly down to Cullen's chest, heedless of the mess. They lay together for several minutes, Dorian's ear listening for the sound of Cullen's heartbeat as it slowed.

Cullen yawned. “We should clean up. We’ll regret it in the morning if we don’t.”

Dorian whined. He turned his head to face the washbasin. Holding out his hand, he snapped his fingers. The cloth he’d dampened previously to soothe his aching head flew into his hand. Dorian handed it to Cullen as he rolled to lay at the man’s side.

“Convenient.” Cullen whispered.

“You can thank me later.” Dorian said into the pillow. “I like fine wines and flowers.”

“Duly noted,” Cullen chuckled, but Dorian was already asleep. Despite his earlier assertion, Cullen joined him only moments later, and did not dream of anything. Dorian, however, did: dreams of dark water, fractured light gleaming down onto the murky bottom.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope people don't mind switch!Cullen, because... well. That's what you get, apparently?


	12. Ancient History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Champion of Kirkwall visits Skyhold, and Dorian finds out a bit about Cullen's time in Kirkwall.

It took a little effort, but Dorian was able to construct a justification for the previous evening’s intimacy with Cullen without jeopardizing the fragile terms of their arrangement. It was a masterpiece of logic, a spindly skeleton of syllogisms that proved that Dorian still did not harbor any feelings for Cullen. This relied heavily on a loose interpretation of the bonds of friendship, a rather unfocused view of how quid pro quo transactions work, and a somewhat revisionist definition of certain words. One stiff breeze would collapse the whole thing, but Dorian didn’t think too hard about that. The important thing was, the argument existed. Its strength was irrelevant.

The fact that there was no opportunity to linger in Cullen's bed in the morning helped things enormously. Well, Dorian  _ assumed  _ there was no opportunity. He snuck out as soon as the light in the sky was a rosy purple, Cullen still deep asleep. Surely the Commander wouldn’t want him to wait until the morning watch came and found them together. Really, he was doing the man a favor. 

All things considered, Dorian was downright chipper about the whole thing. The sex had been fantastic, the friendship was intact, and he wasn’t weighed down by any lodestones of emotion. 

It was a good day to be upbeat, because by mid-morning the keep was in upheaval: Varric’s ‘friend’ had arrived. And it was none other than Garrett Hawke. 

Dorian laid low in his library nook. Whatever was going on, he’d hear the details soon enough. One of the books he’d requested from Tevinter had arrived, and Dorian was eager to dive into his research.

The noon bell took him by surprise. Stretching, he marked his place in the book and went to find Cullen. It had, after all, been a long time since they’d had a game of chess.

A few moments later he approached Cullen's tower. The Commander’s laugh rang loudly, audible even through the heavy door. That was a surprise, but not an unpleasant one; Dorian found himself smiling as he knocked and opened the door to Cullen's invitation.

The smile died instantly. Cullen sat at his desk, leaning back casually as he laughed. There was a man perched on the edge of the desk, also laughing. He was, in Dorian's estimation, sitting far too close to the Commander. He turned, and not only was he too close, he was far too handsome to be that near Cullen. Vishante kaffas, the man even had good hair. 

Jealousy was not something Dorian experienced often. There was a moment where he felt a flash of cold so intense it seemed to burn in his chest. This was immediately followed by confusion. He couldn’t possibly be jealous. For him to be jealous would mean he cared for Cullen as more than a friend. Which, clearly, was not the case. 

The airtight logic did nothing to stem the tide of burning cold which settled into the pit of his stomach.

“And this must be Dorian,” the man said. Fasta vass, did his voice have to be so deep and rich? The newcomer rose, coming around to hold out his hand. 

“Dorian, allow me the pleasure of introducing Garrett Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall,” Cullen said, also coming to his feet.

“Not you too,” Hawke frowned over his shoulder. “You’ve been listening to Varric too much,” he said to Cullen. To Dorian, he smiled and said, “Just Hawke is fine.”

“A pleasure,” Dorian said automatically. “How did you know my name?” 

“Ah....” Hawke chuckled, casting a sidelong glance at Cullen. 

“Are you telling tales behind my back, Commander?” Dorian raised an accusatory eyebrow.

“Only good ones,” Hawke said, giving him a hint of a wink that was too charming by half.

Dorian sighed melodramatically, trying to hide both his jealousy and his attempt to fight Hawke’s personal magnetism. “And there are so many to choose from.”

Hawke gave him a once over and hummed. “I am not surprised.”

Cullen spluttered. “Hawke!”

“What’s the matter, Commander? The man’s allowed to have good taste.” Dorian took a moment to actually look at Hawke. It was a very, very pleasant moment. He couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Oh, Maker’s breath. I should never have introduced you.” Cullen muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I only came to see if you fancied a game,” Dorian said, looking over Hawke’s shoulder. “It can wait.” He was pleased at how level and calm his voice was. And also for the fact that he didn’t say “get away from this handsome stranger at once”.

“Don’t change your plans on my account, Cullen,” Hawke said, waving his hand.

Before the matter was decided, a runner came in. “The Inquisitor requests your presence in the War Room at your earliest convenience, Commander.”

“Well, that's that, I suppose. Maybe tomorrow?” Cullen said. “Hawke, can you give us a moment?”

As Dorian watched Hawke leave and shut the door behind him, Cullen came around the desk. Without preamble he kissed Dorian. 

For a second, Dorian was too shocked to respond. After Cullen pulled away, Dorian looked at him in confusion. “What was that for?”

It was Cullen's turn to look confused. “Be...cause I... like... kissing you?” The words were elongated, underscoring the uncertain expression on his face.

Dorian blinked. “Oh, I... I see. Of course. Who doesn’t? I’m delicious.” Not his best comeback, but to be fair, he was incredibly confused.

“Why did you run off this morning?” Cullen asked. 

“I thought you’d prefer it,” Dorian said. “People coming and going from the tower, you know. I didn’t want it to be awkward for you.” He got the sudden sensation that he was speaking an entirely different language from Cullen.

Cullen brought up a hand to cup Dorian's cheek. “I’m not terribly concerned with that. For future reference.”

“Duly noted, Commander.” Dorian said. 

Cullen's eyes glowed, hungry. “You, my dear Dorian, are about to distract me from an important meeting. I must go. Would you care to have dinner later?”

“Yes?” 

Cullen laughed at the ambiguous acceptance. “Good. Be here at seven bells.” 

On the battlements, Dorian watched Cullen stride into the rotunda. The last five minutes had been possibly the most confusing of his life. 

From behind him, Hawke pushed himself from the stone wall he’d been leaning against. “I play chess, you know.”

“Do you,” Dorian said, still staring at the door Cullen had gone through. He roused himself. “I’m sorry, I was distracted.”

“I see that,” Hawke smiled. “I was saying, I play chess, if you’d care to  _ take me on.” _

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Atrocious innuendo aside, I don’t want to take you away from Varric.”

Hawke waved him off. “No fear. That Seeker woman dragged him off. She looked furious. If there’s anything left of him when she’s through, we can catch up.” 

Dorian gave a single, knowing laugh. “Let’s hope he’s nimble, then.”

A few moments later, they settled down to the board. It felt odd, sitting across from someone other than Cullen. “So, tell me. How is it that an apostate became friends with a Templar, exactly? I rather missed that chapter of Tale of the Champion, I’m afraid.”

“That’s because I threatened to pull each of Varric’s chest hairs out individually if he included it.” Hawke smiled. 

“It’s a good thing he didn’t, then. Who has that kind of time? You’d still be at it.” Dorian drawled.

Hawke’s laugh rang through the garden. “I like you, Dorian.” 

“Enough to tell me this fascinating bit of secret history, I hope.” There was no doubt a perfectly rational explanation, that did not remotely involve this Hawke shaking and sweating and moaning under Cullen. Dorian immediately regretted that particular line of thought, as it was unaccountably arousing.

Hawke sighed, staring at the board. “There was a brief period... actually, it was more like three years.... Anyway, Fenris and I weren’t together. He’d broken it off. At first I was pretty upset. Might’ve worked my way through a few lads and lasses at the Hanged Man.”

Dorian chuckled knowingly. 

“Yes, quite,” Hawke said. “So one night a fight breaks out. Not just drunks pummeling each other - there were swords drawn. Varric and Isabela and I tried put a stop to it. I... might’ve let a few spells loose. You know how it is. So this other guy, one who’d been lurking in the corner minding his own, leaps into the fray too. During the fracas his hat falls off, and I see it’s none other than the Knight Captain. And it’s a lucky thing he stepped in, too. We were outmatched. I would’ve had to take drastic measures to get out. Would’ve been a shame to set the place on fire. Cheapest beer in Kirkwall.” Hawke paused, considering the placement of the pieces on the board. 

“I take it something happened?” Dorian surmised.

“Aside from almost shitting my pants, you mean? I forget, you Tevinter don’t know what it’s like, to constantly live in fear of being found out. One little mistake, let your secret out to one wrong person, and you’re done for. The Circle for you.” Hawke frowned.

“Some of us know that feeling quite well, actually,” Dorian sighed. 

“Oh, right. Because of the... I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have presumed.” Hawke said.

Dorian narrowed his eyes. He was tempted to ask how Hawke was so familiar with this particular brand of Tevinter conservatism, but that might mean hearing what Cullen had told him. And Dorian definitely didn’t want to hear that. “I take it Cullen didn’t do that.”

Hawke shook his head. “Probably helped my idiot brother had become a Templar by then. And Meredith had begun to show signs of instability. Cullen was already straining at the bonds of being a Templar by that point, and he needed me out in the city, not shackled in the Circle. So he pulled me aside, gave me a talking to. Well,  _ slightly  _ more than a talking to. More like a spanking, really.” The breath whooshed out of Hawke’s lips as he remembered, shivering.

Dorian's hand, which had been about to move a rook, froze in mid-air. 

“Sorry. Did you... sweet Maker, did he not tell you?” Hawke said, his voice rising in concern.

“Ah... no, why should he?” Dorian said lightly. “No business of mine who he’s slept with.” It was possible that he placed the rook back down on the board with more force than necessary. 

When Hawke didn’t reply, Dorian looked up. Hawke’s head was tilted, his nose scrunched up. “Not very good at lying, are you? Have you asked Varric? I’m sure he’d give you lessons.” 

Dorian wanted to be angry at the remark. He well and truly did. He had every reason to dislike this man, with his easy charm and atrociously muscled arms and effortlessly messy hair. When the laugh bubbled helplessly up from his chest, Dorian felt betrayed by himself. He looked to the sky, shaking his head, and then threw the hapless rook at Hawke. 

“Hey!” Hawke protested. “I was winning!”

“Yes, well, that's no great feat,” Dorian said. “Can I buy you lunch?”

_“Ooh,_ lunch with the evil magister. I should really check with my secretary.”

“If you prefer to keep your soul intact, I can show you to the dining hall and you can have as much turnip stew as you like,” Dorian drawled, sweeping the chess pieces into the box.

“Tempting. And what do I get if I accept this scandalous invitation?”

“Still stew, but it has potatoes. And my sparkling presence, of course,” Dorian smirked. 

Hawke stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Hmm, let me think... lunch with a handsome man.... I might be able to _ fit you in.” _

Dorian served him with a level stare. “Hawke. That was terrible.”

Hawke shrugged. “It’s a gift.”

A short while later, they ensconced themselves into a corner table at the Herald’s Rest, tucking into lunch. And it was a lucky thing, too: the day’s menu was decidedly lacking in stew, and featured instead succulent cutlets of pork, mashed potatoes, spiced greens, and a basket of fresh baked rolls. 

“This isn’t bad,” Hawke grinned, heaping his plate with potatoes and meat. “First hot meal after being on the road’s always a treat.”

“Isn’t it just? As much as I miss the food of my homeland, I’ll admit that Fereldens know their way around a potato.” Dorian admitted.

“Yes, Fenris said much the same,” Hawke noted.

Dorian's fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Fenris... was from Tevinter?”

“Did you not know?” Hawke frowned. 

Dorian coughed delicately. “I... may have skimmed certain sections of Varric’s book. The prose is so purple, you know.”

“That I do,” Hawke said. “And yes. He was a slave, escaped from the household of Danarius.”

Dorian's fork clattered to his plate. “You... you mean... Fenris is _Leto?_ The Lyrium Ghost?”

Hawke’s eyes were wide. “I take it you’ve heard of him.”

“I think I might be sick.” Dorian said. “Fasta vass, he’s not here with you, is he?”

“Of course not,” Hawke said, frowning in confusion.

Drawing his fingers along his forehead, Dorian sighed in relief. “Thank the Maker. I’ve no doubt he’d rip the heart from my chest. And I'm not sure I'd try to stop him. Yes, I’ve heard of him. It was no secret that Danarius was pathologically cruel. I hated the man. I’m glad he’s dead. I might disagree with many southerners about the relative ills of institutional slavery versus alienages, but what that man did was unconscionable.” He swigged his ale, eager to get the sour taste out of his mouth.

“I had no idea it was so well known,” Hawke said, frowning into his lunch.

“Oh yes,” Dorian said. He barked a laugh. “Danarius boasted endlessly about the procedure, going into sickening detail at the slightest provocation. In a way, Leto was a bit of a firebrand, one of the many unfortunate poster children for the ills of the Imperium. It brought us pariahs together, gave us something to rally around. I met many forward-thinking people that I might’ve not known otherwise, because of a shared disgust for Danarius. Cold comfort, I’m sure.”

Hawke gave a knowing smile. “Fenris would definitely  not  find it comforting to know. You’re right about that.” He sighed, his eyes suddenly far away.

There was a lot of emotion in that look. Dorian hesitated. Despite his raging curiosity, it wasn’t really his place to ask for intimate details about their relationship. Time for a change of subject. “Are there any other deeply personal topics you’d like me to bring up? Childhood pets that died, that sort of thing?” Dorian asked, one eyebrow raised.

Hawke’s laugh rang out. “Ha! Quite. I could ask you the same thing. Not every day a mage wins the heart of a Templar. There’s got to be a story there.”

“Ex-Templar,” Dorian corrected automatically. He blinked as the import of Hawke’s words hit him. “And there’s no story to tell. We’re friends who happen to enjoy certain intimacies, that's all.”

Hawke tilted his head, his lips pursed. “Nooo... still not working. It’s something about your face, I think. You do this thing with your eyebrows... just terrible. Have you tried keeping your face more composed when you lie? Or practicing in front of a mirror?”

Dorian's comeback was interrupted by the arrival of the Iron Bull. The Qunari sauntered up to the table from behind Hawke and casually stole a roll from Dorian's plate, popping it into his mouth whole.

“Who’s your friend?” Bull said around a mouthful of bread. He looked down at Hawke. His eye widened. 

_ “Friend _ remains to be seen,” Dorian's frown was exaggerated. “Hawke, the Iron Bull. Bull, Hawke.”

“Yeah. I figured it out. The nose kinda gives it away,” Bull said. He wiped his hand on his pants and offered it.

“Does it?” Hawke frowned, rising to shake Bull’s hand. “Time was warpaint was all the rage. Am I going out of fashion?”

“You’re asking the Qunari wearing a circus tent on his legs about fashion?” Dorian drawled.

Bull pointed at the slice of pork on Dorian's plate. “You gonna eat that?” Without waiting for an answer, he picked up Dorian's fork and shoveled the entire piece of meat into his mouth, heedless of Dorian's protests.

“Remind me why I’m friends with you, again?” Dorian sighed. 

Hawke was watching the interaction with interest. “I think this friendship might be more interesting that the Templar love story.”

“We’re not in love!” Dorian almost shouted, slamming his hand on the table.

Silence wafted through the tavern. Hawke and Bull both froze in shock.

The moment passed. “Definitely the eyebrows,” Hawke stroked his chin. “Really gives it away.”

“You think? I always thought it was the way he blinks so fast,” Bull said. “But, yeah, maybe it is the eyebrows.”

Dorian crumpled down to the table, burying his face in his arms. After a moment, he popped up, sitting straight, his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Fine.  _ Fine.  _ Cullen and I are deeply and madly in love and we’re going to buy matching fuzzy capes and raise mabaris and live till a ripe old age on a farm in Ferelden. Happy?”

“Who’s living on a farm in Ferelden?” The familiar voice came from behind Bull. “Sounds wonderful.”

Dorian squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Cullen! How’s it going?” Even with his eyes clamped tightly, Dorian could hear the knowing grin on Bull’s face.

“Dorian was just telling us about his vision for the future,” Hawke said. “Quite idyllic.”

Jumping to his feet, Dorian brushed crisply at the front of his doublet. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a lot of work to do. Good day.” He pushed past them, using the momentary silence to make his getaway.

Dorian's steps slowed once he was out of view of the tavern. He wandered somewhat aimlessly, unsure of where he was headed, deep in thought. But not so deep that he missed the sound of steps behind him, accompanied by the heavy jingle of plate armor.

Dorian wheeled about. “Barris!” he yelped in relieved surprise.

The Templar raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

With a wave, Dorian dismissed his concern. “What can I do for you?”

“I saw you practicing the other day. It was spectacular.” 

It took Dorian a few seconds to realize Barris was referring to his little breakdown, when he thoroughly demolished the practice dummies. “Oh?” 

“You’ve already done more than enough to help us with tactics for the Venatori. The training manuals you loaned us have been quite helpful. I realize it’s a lot to ask, but if you could possibly see your way towards overseeing some practice drills, maybe give a few pointers? We’ll need a few weeks to prepare, of course.” 

Dorian considered it. “You want me to watch a bunch of soldiers getting all sweaty while they fling themselves about? How could I possibly say no?”

Barris’ grin was wide. “You’re more than welcome to join in, of course. I myself would very much like a chance to see you in action. Perhaps test my skills.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would,” Dorian purred, raising an eyebrow. He never could resist a good flirt. “We Tevinter mages are rather more athletically inclined than these pesky little apostates you have running amok, you know. I’m quite good with my staff.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Barris smiled. “I look forward to a demonstration,” he said with a bow. 

Dorian watched him walk away. He took a deep breath. That had been quite a bracing exchange. Just the thing to drag him out of the whirlpool of confusion about Cullen. He was quite pleased with himself, really. Enough that he had ceased to pay attention to where his feet were leading him. Until suddenly he found himself in staring down a disused hallway, the site of his picnic with Cullen the other night. 

It looked different in the day. Without the moonlight and shadows, it was just a crumbling corner, full of dust and rocks and half-dead vines. Dorian didn’t remember packing up the remnants of their picnic, but all signs of it were gone. Of course Cullen had probably come early the next morning, cleaning up all the plates and cups, bringing it all in the basket back to the kitchens, thanking the cooks sincerely, making sure they had what they needed for the day, even though that wasn’t his job. 

Inhaling sharply, Dorian shook his head to clear it. This was getting ridiculous. The thoughts twisted around him, always returning to that dratted blond and his devastating smile. Apparently more drastic measures were called for. Dorian shivered, waving the fire to life in the corner. Unhooking his mantle, he let the fabric drape around his shoulders, pulling it close for warmth. Sinking down to one of the stones nearest the fire, he allowed the pattern of the flames to wipe his mind free of thought. 

Alexius had taught him how to meditate. They never spoke of Dorian's dark time, though he was sure Alexius knew. When Dorian had returned to his studies, quiet and chastened and too meek by half, Alexius showed Dorian how to still his mind in the comfort of flame. It seemed the perfect antidote to the dark and murky water that haunted his dreams.

It had been a long time since he’d practiced. Other issues were more pressing, the hole in the sky being chief among them. It took Dorian's mind a long time to settle, like a nervous dog jumping at every tiny sound. He half expected to hear Cullen's boot step behind him at any moment.

But it did not arrive, and finally Dorian was able to let even that small worry go, relaxing his gaze into the salvation of flame. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Dorian was supposed to hate Hawke. There was this whole jealous rivalry thing planned. Yeah, that didn't happen. Because.... well, because Hawke. I mean. How can you hate good ol' purple Hawke?


	13. In Vino Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen cancels his plans at the last minute. Dorian finds solace in ale and good company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like a little sarcastic Hawke with my angst, thanks. And a dash of overprotective Bull for good measure.

In the dining hall, Dorian glared at the bowl of turnip stew in front of him. Vile stuff. He choked down as much of the underseasoned mush as he could. Was it really so difficult to get salt in the south? He began to wonder if the bowl was cursed. It didn’t matter how much he ate - the amount remaining never seemed to lessen. He pushed it away in disgust.

Bull sat across the table from him. “You gonna eat that?” the Qunari asked without preamble.

“Do you never procure food for yourself? I’m beginning to think you’re some kind of parasite,” Dorian glowered at the Qunari even as he gestured at the bowl, offering it up.

“I don’t like wasting food.” Bull began helping himself to Dorian's stew.

“How very Qunari of you.” Dorian sighed.

Bull grunted and focused his attention on demolishing Dorian's leftovers. Within seconds, the bowl was empty. “I thought you were having dinner with Cullen tonight.”

“Change of plans. Apparently, he’s not feeling well.” Dorian drawled, trying to keep the concern out of his voice.

When Dorian had showed up to Cullen's office at seven bells, as the Commander had requested, he found the man flustered. His skin was flushed, almost feverish, sheened with sweat. He seemed brimming with nervous energy, trembling all over, almost shivering. Cullen didn’t even open the door all the way, his body wedged into the opening, as if he was worried Dorian might push his way inside. Cullen vaguely explained he wasn’t feeling well. Waving off Dorian's offers of assistance, the man apologized for the change of plans and then very firmly shut the door in Dorian's face.

Dorian knew he shouldn’t be concerned. Plans change. People fall ill. He had no reason to be upset. Dorian's constant repetition of these facts did little to ease the doubt that nagged at him. It wasn’t that Cullen seemed to be lying, but he was certainly hiding something. Dorian assiduously avoided thinking about the fear that Cullen might very well have been hiding some ** _one._**

But -- why should Dorian care? Let the man keep his secrets. Though they might have an arrangement, there had been no talk about it being _exclusive._ And Dorian didn’t _want_ to be any closer to Cullen. Did he? A little distance was a good thing, right? Then why did he feel so sick to his stomach?

After a moment, Dorian realized he’d gotten wrapped up in this recursive internal argument. Again. Bull was looking at him carefully. Dorian hoped he hadn’t been talking to himself. “I’m going for a drink. You interested?”

Bull grunted, not directly answering him. “How’s that whole thing going?”

“Well, you were right about the sex,” Dorian acknowledged. “Spectacular. As for the rest, it’d go a lot better if certain people kept their noses out of it. And their horns.”

Bull snorted. “Is this the thanks I get for pointing you in the direction of spectacular sex?”

With a sigh, Dorian rolled his eyes. “Well I suppose, when you put it like that.” He stood. “You coming or what?”

Once they arrived at the Herald’s Rest, Bull immediately got pulled aside by Rocky and Dalish. The tavern was quite busy. Dorian suspected that had much to do with Hawke, who sat in one corner and was essentially holding court. Varric was there, of course, laughing and telling stories. If his face looked a tad pensive when there was a lull in conversation, no one mentioned it. News of his altercation with Cassandra in the smithy had spread like wildfire. Dorian might not have been an expert in romance, but even he could recognize the tension which had been growing between the two of them. Just exactly the wrong time for an argument of that sort.

Which, unfortunately, put Dorian's mind right back to Cullen. He shook his head and ordered an ale. This emotional dithering was intolerable. Meditation hadn’t provided much relief; perhaps inebriation would at least give him a temporary reprieve.

“Dorian!” Hawke called from across the room. “I hope you’re not attempting to pay for a drink, my friend.” The Champion waved at Cabot, who shrugged.

“Ale’s on the Champion, I guess,” he said laconically. Cabot said everything laconically. It seemed to be his preferred lifestyle.

Dorian made his way over with his tankard, obediently taking a seat on the bench next to the mage.

“Where’s Curly?” Varric asked from the other side of the table.

“I have no idea,” Dorian said adroitly. “Neck-deep in an atrocious cape, no doubt.”

“Ha!” Hawke pounded Dorian on the shoulder. “It’s terrible, that thing. Anders used to wear something like that. Only it was feathers. I think it was feathers. Was it feathers?” He turned in tipsy confusion to Varric.

“At one point, yes, I think they technically had qualified as originating from a bird, yes.” Varric agreed, taking a long sip from his tankard.

“He’d’ve loved you,” Hawke said to Dorian. “Loved mages, Anders did. Almost as much as cats.”

“The cat thing is true, then?” Dorian asked in surprise.

“Sparkler! You wound me! Of course it’s true,” Varric grinned.

“He had one... Ser Poncy?” Hawke scratched his head.

“Pounce-a-lot,” Varric corrected.

“That’s the stuff. Anyway. He was putting down milk for the sewer cats one day. I almost thought he was going to kiss me. Not that he wasn’t handsome. In a feathery kind of way,” Hawke’s eyes seemed ever so slightly far away. “But you know.” He took a long drink, as if that settled the matter.

Dorian looked to Varric, who just shrugged. “What do I know?” Dorian prompted.

“How it is,” Hawke clarified. “The heart wants what it wants. Even if it’s a mage-hating elf with a chip on his shoulder the size of Sundermount. You know. Like your Templar.”

 _“Your_ Templar?” The voice came from just over Dorian's shoulder. It was Barris. “Room for one more?”

Dorian scooted to the side, allowing Barris to take a seat. “Always,” Dorian smiled. There was a sudden, clenching sensation of guilt in his stomach. He drained his tankard in an effort to drown it out. This was a surprisingly successful tactic.

Perhaps it was from not eating much in the way of lunch or dinner, but Dorian fell into his cups with astonishing speed. Whatever the reason, his inebriation quelled the rising panic at Barris’ increasingly forward overtures: the hand draped casually over the back of Dorian's chair, the way he tilted his body to face Dorian, the way his knee made first tenuous, then continuous contact with Dorian's under the table.

It wasn’t until Barris’ hand rested on Dorian's knee that the mage realized just how serious the Templar’s intent was. By that point, taking Barris back to his quarters seemed like a fantastic idea to Dorian. And not just that, but also inevitable. The only thing nagging at him was an uncomfortable feeling in his bladder.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Dorian said, leaning heavily on Barris’ shoulder as he rose. “Back in a tic.” If he leaned perhaps slightly closer to the grinning Templar than was strictly necessary, well, surely the ale was to blame?

On the way back from his errand, and now fortified with a fresh and completely unnecessary tankard, Dorian was dismayed to find that Bull had taken his place.

“Hey, Dorian,” Bull said, apparently not noticing the daggers that Dorian was shooting out of his eyes. “Have a seat.”

Bull obligingly budged up, making room for Dorian, but keeping his enormous bulk between the mage and the now-frowning Templar.

“What are you doing?” Dorian hissed to him.

“Having a drink with my friends?” Bull raised an eyebrow in innocent confusion.

Dorian was not fooled for a second. He focused his attention on his ale, paying little heed to Varric’s latest story, which had Bull roaring with laughter. He smacked Dorian on the back, causing the mage to splutter his drink all down the front of his robes.

“Oh, sorry. Here.” Bull wiped at his chest and lap with a napkin, keeping his arm around Dorian's shoulders protectively. Dorian was so used to Bull’s casual intimacy that he didn’t blink at the contact. Without thinking about it, he sighed with resignation and drunkenly leaned into Bull’s shoulder as the Qunari dabbed at his thighs with the cloth.

Barris rose to his feet abruptly. “Well. Serah Hawke, gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure. I must take my leave. Early training tomorrow. If you’ll excuse me.”

Dorian watched in tipsy stupor as Barris strode out. He smacked Bull on the chest. “Qunari oaf. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Bull grinned sweetly.

“No, I don’t,” Dorian sighed, slumping on his stool.

“Are you getting all this, Varric? The Qunari just cockblocked the Tevinter,” Hawke pointed out.

“Old news, Hawke,” Varric said, shaking his head. “Old news.”

Things went rapidly downhill from there. Without the excitement of Barris’ company to look forward to, there was nothing distracting Dorian from the now-overwhelming conviction that Cullen had lied to him. The more Dorian drank, the easier it was to believe that Cullen must’ve been hiding someone else in his tower. No doubt someone younger, more attractive, better at giving Cullen the kind of subservience he so clearly desired. Dorian's ale-addled mind had already determined that it was over between he and Cullen. He’d never again feel Cullen pin him to the bed, never again hear that voice growling at him, never again see that perfect face flush with bliss.

“Sparkler? You okay?” Varric’s concern cut through the background noise.

“What?” Dorian looked up, realizing that he’d been lost in thought. He wiped at his eye, surprised to find it was wet. As were his cheeks.

“Aaaaand I think we’re done here, gents,” Bull said, looking closely at Dorian. “C’mon, little ‘Vint. Time for your bed.”

Bull ignored Dorian's vague protests and scooped him out of his seat as if he were a child. Dorian was too drunk to put up much of a fight, anyway. The sensation of being cradled in Bull’s arms was soothing. He looped his arms around Bull’s neck. The alcohol coursing through his system had loosened his self-control. By the time they reached the cool darkness of the courtyard, Dorian was weeping hot, silent tears into Bull’s shoulder.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Bull rumbled as he climbed the steps to the battlements.

“Cullen. He - he had someone in his tower. I’m sure of it. He lied to me, Bull. They always lie. Always.” Dorian sniffled hugely.

“That what you think? You think he was with someone else?” Bull said.

Dorian nodded. The intoxication was almost as good at suppressing his emotional defenses as Cullen was. “He doesn’t really want me. They never do.” It seemed so simple, so clear. “Why would he? Why would anyone? Maybe my father was right. I’m too weak to deserve better.”

Had he been sober enough to truly hear it, the sigh Bull gave just then would’ve broken Dorian's heart.

The next morning, Dorian remembered very little of the previous evening. He remembered Hawke, definitely. And something about cats and feathers. And... Barris?

The fact that he was nestled up next to the Iron Bull was not even hinted at in these scattered recollections.

“You’re up,” Bull noted.

“Not by choice,” Dorian said, clutching at his head. “And I know you’re too much a man of honor to have taken advantage of my state last night. So... what are you doing here, exactly?”

There was a pause. “You didn’t seem to want to be alone,” Bull said finally. “You were pretty drunk.”

“Clearly,” Dorian winced, clutching his throbbing head. “Please tell me I didn’t make a fool of myself.”

“Oh, you know I wouldn’t let you do that,” Bull grinned. “I got you out of there before the worst of the crying started.”

Dorian groaned, flopping face down into the bed. “I was crying?” His voice was muffled into his pillow.

“Yeah. You were convinced Cullen was with someone else. I couldn’t talk you out of it.”

The nagging doubt from Cullen's abrupt change of plans crashed back into Dorian, though without the utter clarity that alcohol provided, he was at least willing to entertain the idea that he was wrong. Though, that was almost worse. Given the choice between being certain and hopeless, or suspicious and hopeful, Dorian picked certainty every time. He unleashed a torrent of expletives into his pillow.

“Cullen's not with anyone else,” Bull stated.

Dorian rolled over and sat up, then immediately regretted it as the blood rushed to his pounding head. “How can you be so sure?”

“I'd be able to smell it on him," Bull shrugged. “Qunari have an excellent sense of smell. And Cullen only smells like himself and a certain 'Vint of my acquaintance. ”

Dorian blinked. Relief began to trickle in, slowly at first. “Oh. I see." He watched as Bull heaved himself from the bed and stretched.

“Speaking of which, _you_ might wanna hit the baths. You smell like a brewery." Bull snickered, dodging the tiny fireball that Dorian launched at his head on his way out.

After a bath, several cups of elfroot tea, and a breakfast in which bacon played a large role, the mage’s hangover was under control. Dorian was certain of one thing: he was too close. He shouldn't feel this relieved that Cullen wasn't with anyone else. It was none of Dorian's business. What Dorian needed was some distance. Distance would provide clarity.

The opportunity presented itself soon enough, as the inner circle was summoned after breakfast to the war room. That meant Cadash wanted volunteers.

Dorian gave the briefest glance at Cullen as the man pored over the map. He gave no indication that anything was wrong, nor was there any trace of illness. Dorian looked away as Cadash cleared her throat.

“Alright listen,” she said, holding up her hands to quiet the group. “Here’s the thing. Hawke’s gonna head to Crestwood, find his Warden friend. Might take a while. In the meantime, we have a situation. I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I need volunteers to go with me.”

When she paused for breath, Dorian spoke up. “I’ll go,” he said.

Her head snapped around to look at him. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could sense Cullen frowning at him in concern. He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Cadash grinned widely at him. “That’s what I like to hear. Anyone else wanna volunteer for this shitshow without even hearing where we’re going?”

No one spoke. “Ha!” Cadash laughed. “Thought so. Emprise du Lion. Frozen wasteland, swarming with red Templars.”

Dorian groaned, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Distance was one thing. Cold was another. He hated being cold.

Cadash cajoled them a bit longer, until Varric finally spoke up. Dorian wondered if perhaps he wanted to get away from Cassandra.

“I’ll go,” Bull added. “Sounds fun.”

Dorian glanced over. From the way Bull’s gaze did not shift, it was obvious he had been looking at Dorian when he spoke, not at Cadash. Dorian frowned.

“Fun?” Sera squinched her face in disgust. “You’re a nutter.”

“Hey, I don’t get cold. I wanna see if I can get one of those red Templars to shatter if I hit it hard enough.”

There was a collective groan as Bull continued his theories on how the cold would affect the guts he planned to spill in great quantities. Thankfully, with a team assembled, they were free to go. Dorian headed to the refuge of the library.

A lifetime devoted to scholarship had some benefits. For instance, Dorian was able to force himself to concentrate on whatever research was at hand under all but the most trying conditions. Given that he’d just committed to spending who knows how many weeks in a frigid wasteland, he thought perhaps writing up his most recent conclusions was warranted.

He relaxed into the familiar routines: parchment just so, the proper kind of ink and quills, his books arrayed for easy access. It was comforting, his mind occupied with the task at hand.

Dorian lost track of time - bells definitely tolled, but he hadn’t paid attention to how many times. And then a shadow fell across the table, blocking his light.

This was, of course, intolerable. “Excuse me, can’t you see - Cullen,” Dorian blinked up at the warrior. “What are you doing here?”

“I hoped for a game. Twice now I’ve turned you down or broken our plans. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, think I don't enjoy your company.” Cullen leaned closer. “And it's been ages since I had the opportunity to best you. At chess, at any rate.” Cullen purred.

That voice did all sorts of things to Dorian. Heat prickled in his stomach. Somewhere in the dusty recesses of his mind, Dorian remembered something about wanting distance. Well, that’d come soon enough, wouldn’t it? No need to be _rude._ “Oh. Oh, of course. Yes, I’d like that. Here, let me just tidy things up.” Dorian began to collect his notes.

Cullen sat in the chair by the window. “Take your time,” he smiled.

As Dorian sorted through his papers, Cullen spoke. “I see the Knight-Captain has plans for you,” he noted.

With a yelp, Dorian knocked over an inkwell. Muttering curses, he staunched the flow of ink before too many of his notes were obliterated. “Whatever do you mean?” Dorian felt his cheeks burning. Perhaps he’d been more visible in his flirting than he’d thought. A wave of guilt roiled through him. Why had he ever thought that was a good idea? _Oh right. The ale._

“He’s arranging some field training upon your return. I had to approve the schedules and roster.” Cullen clarified.

“Oh that,” Dorian said in relief.

“What did you think I meant?” The amusement in Cullen's voice was edged with curiosity.

“Oh, er.... Sorry. Still getting used to this whole ‘Not All Templars’ thing. They make me jumpy. I still have nightmares about getting my mana stripped, you know.” Dorian hoped that the gloss of truth would cover his dissembling. He hadn’t lied, exactly.

Cullen sighed heavily. “I’m so sorry. Are you sure you want to train with them? You shouldn’t feel forced into it.”

“No, no, it’s a good idea,” Dorian said. “Truly.”

There was a pause in which Cullen looked at him intently. Apparently satisfied, he nodded. “Well, at any rate, I’ll be there as well. I may no longer be a Templar, but I like to keep my hand in.”

There was no way Dorian was going to pass up an opening like that. “Keep your hand in... what, exactly?” Dorian fixed him with an innocent smile, completely at odds with the seduction he infused into his voice.

Cullen rose and stood over him, giving a low, sighing growl. “We’d better get to our game,” he said. “Before you distract me utterly.”

“I’d hate to pass up an opportunity to be bested, Commander.” Dorian grinned up at him. He rose with serpentine grace, coming to stand entirely too close to Cullen for polite company.

Cullen's eyes glittered. “Garden. Now.”

Dorian laughed delightedly and slipped by Cullen, grabbing the box of chess pieces from the shelf. “Your command is my wish.”

 


	14. Almost Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Cullen's game of chess gets cut short.

Dorian and Cullen took their old familiar seats in the garden, facing each other across the board. It felt deeply satisfying in a way Dorian didn't care to examine too closely.

“So, you seem to get along well with Hawke,” Cullen noted after a few turns. “Though now that I think about it, I’m hardly surprised.”

“Why? Because we’re both tremendously handsome and talented mages?” Dorian quipped.

“Er, yes, actually,” Cullen chuckled.

“Oh.” For some reason, the concurrence with Dorian's boasting left him at a loss. “Well. You could’ve warned me you were involved with him.” As the words were leaving his mouth, Dorian wished he could take them back. It was none of his business. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Cullen winced. “No. You’re right. You’re exactly right. I... I was going to, but I wasn’t sure if it would come up, and I couldn’t think of any way to mention it ahead of time. I apologize.”

Again, the apology and admittance of fault left Dorian a bit off balance. Not that he was expecting Cullen to argue about it, but it wasn’t every day that someone so readily validated his feelings. In fact it was never.

“Yes, well. Good. No harm done. Not every day you get to hear about the Champion of Kirkwall getting a spanking.” Dorian smirked.

Cullen's hand froze halfway to the board. He went pale, then flushed. “Told you about that, did he? Maker’s breath.” He shifted a castle across the board.

For some reason Cullen's embarrassed reaction reassured Dorian. He grinned. “He only mentioned it in passing.”

“And it didn’t... bother you, to hear?” Cullen kept his eyes trained on the board.

“Well, it was a bit of a shock, I’ll admit. I’d never imagined you would break the Order’s rules so flagrantly. Sleeping with an apostate? Tsk tsk.” Dorian clicked his tongue.

“Technically, I didn’t sleep with him,” Cullen said, looking up at Dorian through his lashes.

“No? But I thought...”

“It was just the spanking. That's it. What the man did with his erection after I left was his business.” Cullen remarked calmly.

“Oh... I... I see,” Dorian said. His breath hitched in his throat a bit. The thought of Hawke being on the receiving end of such treatment and then being turned out without finding relief was incredibly arousing. Wasn’t there something important he was trying to remember? Distance. That was it. Distance provides clarity.

“You seem uncomfortable,” Cullen noted, his voice dry and clinical.

Dorian cleared his throat. “No. I’m fine,” he nodded.

“And now that you know, does that trouble you? It’s your move, by the way.” Cullen leaned back in his chair, his legs splayed open in an impossibly provocative posture.

“Hmm, yes, I see that,” Dorian said, trying and failing to keep his gaze from wandering to Cullen's crotch. He slid a pawn tentatively on the tiles. “And... no. It doesn’t trouble me.”

Cullen made a hum of interest that, in Dorian's estimation, should have been outlawed in public spaces. His body was definitely beginning to take interest in the conversation.

“Doesn’t trouble you, eh? Maybe you like hearing about it?” Cullen leaned forward, tenting his gloved hands as he considered the game.

Dorian shuddered. By the Maker, he  _ did  _ like hearing about it. Dorian had never considered the topic of his lover’s lovers. Granted, there usually wasn’t much of an opportunity for lengthy conversation. Usually one or the other of them had their mouths full, after all.

“I... yes. I do like hearing about it,” Dorian said. He looked up through his lashes. “Commander.”

It was Cullen's turn to take a deep breath. He rolled his shoulders, then drew his gloved thumb along his lower lip. Dorian couldn’t help but lick his own lips in sympathetic response.

Once again, Cullen gave one of those growling hums under his breath, the sound shooting straight to Dorian's cock. His breeches were starting to feel uncomfortably tight; he shifted in his seat to try to relieve the pressure. All thoughts of distance were shoved aside. After all, he was leaving in the morning. That was soon enough.

“Yes, well, as I said. It was only the spanking,” Cullen noted quietly. “Though we did meet more than once.” He frowned at the tiles, then moved a piece. Dorian didn’t even bother looking, his eyes trained on Cullen's face.

“Commander, do you -” Dorian paused as an old woman walked by perhaps a dozen paces away. “Do you really think this is an appropriate space for this conversation?” He was caught between the desire to listen to Cullen's no doubt filthy story and the need for propriety. Anyone walking by too close would hear what they were talking about. Not to mention the visibility of Dorian's arousal, which was threatening to become rather obvious. A tendril of icy doubt began to work its way through him, and he frowned.

Cullen regarded him, his face neutral. “Do you want me to continue? I believe you have a word that will make me stop whatever I’m doing. If this is a limit for you....” His voice was no longer seductive, but intent. “This would be a good time to use it.”

Dorian swallowed hard as he looked back down at the chessboard. He could feel the very edges of that fuzzy, hazy feeling, but it had not taken hold. Though he desperately wanted to hear Cullen continue, the idea of being so aroused in such a public arena made him feel slightly ill. Flirting was one thing. What was happening now bordered on sex. And that was exciting in all the wrong ways, the remnants of Dorian's Tevinter upbringing making his stomach roil. “If I... if I say it, will you continue? Somewhere private?”

Cullen hitched his lips into a damnably sexy smile. “If you like.”

“Katoh,” Dorian said at once. “Also, I forfeit. You win. Excellent game. Let’s please just go.” He began scooping the pieces into the box while Cullen threw his head back and laughed.

Somehow Dorian made it to his quarters, though he barely registered the journey. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Cullen slammed him against the wood, scraping his rough stubble across Dorian's neck and cheek, bathing the mage in the scent of grass and sawdust and sword oil. Dorian was dimly aware of the irony that the same gesture he’d dismissed as a saccharine nuzzle was now being used to such devastating effect. The thought was fleeting, however, as Cullen's hips hitched against him. Dorian gasped.

“So, you want to hear about me spanking Hawke,” Cullen growled. His teeth sank into Dorian's earlobe.

“Yes, Commander,” Dorian whined, his hips rutting.

“Where should I begin? I caught him being a very naughty apostate. Flaunting his magic where just anyone could see it. He needed a talking to. So I pulled him into a back room of the tavern.” Cullen's fingers began working at the buckles on Dorian's doublet. 

The garment fell away and Cullen dipped to lick one of Dorian's now-exposed nipples. The mage groaned. After a moment of exquisite torment, he realized Cullen was waiting for him to respond. “Yes? Then what happened? Commander,” Dorian amended hastily.

“Ah, then. I took him to task. Tensions were running high in the city. I needed him out in the streets, not tied up in the Circle. Though, turned out he was very amenable to being tied up in other situations.” Cullen laughed low in his throat.

“Ahh,” Dorian breathed. Just the idea made him go loose in his joints.

“As are you, I see.” Cullen noted, pulling back to look at him. “Is that what you want, Dorian? Do you want to be bound, helpless, while I tell you this tale?”

“Oh yes please yes  _ yes,” _ Dorian said, emphatic. “Please, Commander.” He writhed against Cullen.

“And what shall I use to bind you, my dear, sweet Dorian?” Cullen grinned.

“I... I have scarves,” Dorian offered. “Top drawer.” 

Cullen groaned in appreciation. “Strip. On the bed, on your back,” he ordered.

As Cullen rooted through his dresser, Dorian hastened to wrench the clothes from his body. He hurled himself to the bed, arranging himself as Cullen had ordered. The fuzzy sensation had taken hold; Dorian welcomed it eagerly.

“My my, Dorian. Such an array of toys you have. I had no idea,” Cullen said. “I may have to deploy some of these. You  _ are  _ about to leave for a very long time. I’d hate to pass up this opportunity.”

Dorian was, of course, more than intimately familiar with all of the implements in his collection. “Oh, yes  _ please, _ Commander.”

Cullen turned around with a handful of thin scarves. The first he tied as a blindfold; Dorian exhaled with pleasure as the fabric was bound across his eyes. Before moving on, Cullen kissed him, deep and rough, making Dorian moan and gasp.

“Hands over your head,” Cullen ordered. Dorian felt the man arrange his hands, spread wide, each tied to a bedpost. “Mmmm. Very pretty. Very pretty, indeed,” Cullen said. “I don’t need to bind your legs. Unless you’d prefer....?”

“Ohhhh,” Dorian said, his hips rutting upward. “Please? Please tie them?”

The sensation of silk looping around his ankles was confirmation. Once Cullen was done, Dorian felt the weight on the bed shift. Dorian pulled against the bindings, testing them. There was a bit of slack; enough that he could move a bit, keep his muscles from cramping, but there was no question that he was helpless. It felt so _ good. _

“Doesn’t it?” Cullen's voice was the only indication that Dorian had, in fact, spoken that last thought aloud. There was a sinking sensation on either side of his hips as Cullen straddled him. “Now. I believe I was telling you about Hawke. Where was I? Remind me.”

“You pulled him in a back room, Commander,” Dorian supplied the thread of the story.

“Ah, yes. He was quite contrite. Offered me whatever I wanted for my silence. Though it was obvious, I needed him as much as he needed me.” Cullen said. “A perfect arrangement. In all respects.”

Dorian whimpered, biting his lip. “And then what happened, Commander?”

“Well. As I said, his lack of discretion required a response. A punishment, as it were. So. I turned him around to face the wall.” By now Cullen had leaned down and was murmuring the words directly into the skin at Dorian's collarbone. 

“I ran my hand over his ass. Nice and round, tight, muscled, just like yours. And simply quivering with anticipation. He had no idea what I would do, you see. And I could have done anything.” Cullen groaned.

Dorian sighed a stream of obscenities. 

“So, I spanked him once, hard, through his breeches. And oh, the _sound_ he made. Mmmm, I wish you could hear it, Dorian.” Cullen's mouth was by now buried in the center of Dorian's chest. He paused. 

“Yes, please, tell me more,” Dorian prompted.

“Well. I didn’t even have to ask. He ripped his breeches down, leaving that glorious ass exposed. Anyone walking in would’ve seen him offering himself to me. Maker, it was... decadent.”

Dorian had been sure Cullen was about to say ‘beautiful’. He felt a surge of pleasure tinged with excitement at the possibility that the endearment was Dorian's alone. 

“And I spanked him. Hard. Ungh,” Cullen groaned, his hips now rocking against Dorian. “Mmm, I’m sure he couldn’t sit the next day. His skin was so red. He was swearing and sweating by the end.”

“How many?” Dorian breathed.

Cullen's chuckle was low, almost a growl. “Twenty.”

Dorian's hips arched as far as his limited mobility would allow. 

“I see you like that idea,” Cullen said, reaching down to tease Dorian's length with one finger. He worried at the leaking slit, smearing the moisture around the crown.

“Maker, yes,” Dorian moaned. 

“Maybe someday I’ll give you twenty. Do you think you would like that?” 

Dorian nodded emphatically, biting his lip. He felt Cullen get up from the bed. A moment later he heard the sound of a drawer being opened. Then the sound of metal and glass clinking, fabric rustling. 

“Before I do that, however, I think I should show you what else I did to Hawke. Do you want to know?”

The  _ yes Commander _ left Dorian's lips before Cullen had even finished the question. Once again, Cullen gave a satisfied laugh. 

Dorian felt the drip of oil and the pressure of a fingertip, just circling at the tight band of muscle. He eased into the caress as Cullen picked up the thread of the story. “The next time I saw Hawke, he’d asked me to come to his estate. ‘To discuss a matter of grave importance’, his note said. I didn’t believe it for a second. When I arrived, his servant told me Hawke was waiting for me in the bedroom.”

The finger pressed into Dorian. He hissed, biting back a groan.

“Hawke was already on the bed. Naked, this time.” Cullen's finger plunged in and out. “He told me he’d misbehaved. Used magic in Darktown, taking down some thugs. He handed me a belt.”

Before Dorian could quite comprehend the significance of that statement, he felt the stinging crack of leather, striking him on the upper thigh. He squealed as the burning snap gave way to warmth.

“How does that feel?” Cullen asked.

“It feels good. Commander.”

“I do love hearing you say that,” Cullen admitted. “As I picked up Hawke’s belt, I saw he had a surprise for me. He’d started before I got there. Had a little something tucked away." Dorian felt the cool pressure of a metal plug replace Cullen's finger. 

“Ohhhhh,” Dorian breathed, bearing down a bit, relaxing himself. 

For a long moment, Cullen worked him with the toy, letting his body become accustomed to the smooth metal. And then, with a final stretch, it was seated. Dorian hummed with pleasure at the feeling of fullness.

“So beautiful,” Cullen said, the thread of the story lost. “Maker, look at you.” The reverence in his voice was unmistakable. “Gorgeous.”

Dorian felt Cullen's hands skim over his chest. He arched into the touch as much as he could, eliciting another round of praise. “Dorian. Dorian. You are so breathtaking. So perfect.”

There was a feeling of something being dragged along the inside of his thigh. Dorian tensed when he realized it was the end of the belt. There were places he was not eager to be struck. Instinct cut through the static, just for an instant, and he struggled to pull away.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Cullen said. “You’ve already had one. Just here... and here....” Cullen dragged the leather along the inside of one of his thighs, then the other, keeping a few inches clear of his balls, which had tightened up to his body. Dorian relaxed and nodded.

“Good.” Cullen said. “Five each to start. Can you do five?”

“Yes,” Dorian gasped. 

Cullen hummed happily. The leather continued to stroke Dorian's skin, a gentle caress. These gave way to very light taps. Dorian's skin began to respond to the sensation, an almost itchy tickle.

The first real smack came without warning. Dorian shouted expletives as the leather landed. And then again, on the opposite thigh, before he’d had a chance to recover. Unlike the last time, the blows were dealt in quick succession. Though they did not gain in intensity, the cumulative effect was like lightning and fire combined, arcing across his skin. Combined with the feeling of fullness from the plug, his body quickly became overwhelmed.

And then it was over. Dorian lay, whimpering quietly. The weight on the bed shifted, and Cullen pulled the blindfold away. 

The first thing Dorian saw was Cullen's straining cock, poised inches away from his lips. Cullen was stroking the underside slowly, ignoring the leaking tip. Dorian's mouth was already obeying the command, “Open.”

Slowly and carefully, Cullen sank into Dorian's mouth. This time he did not pull away as soon as Dorian reached his limit, instead pausing there at the brink, his eyes intent. Dorian was eager, desperate to please, and relaxed his throat as much as he could. 

“That’s it,” Cullen whispered. “Mine.” 

A shudder ran through Dorian at the word, and he lost concentration, choking. Cullen pulled away, leaning down to kiss him. Now it was Cullen who seemed desperate, kissing Dorian as if it was the end of the world. 

The Commander rolled to lay between Dorian's thighs. “By the Maker, Dorian. I want you so much,” Cullen said. “So much.” He pulled away, gazing into Dorian's eyes with an intensity that was almost unbearable. Cullen stroked his hair. “I’d planned to torment you for hours, keep you on the edge, make you moan and beg and sweat.”

Whimpering at the thought, Dorian suddenly found it hard to draw breath.

Cullen shook his head, his eyes hungry, his hips rocking by inches. “But I can’t. Not now. I need you too badly. I can’t resist you like this. I need to be inside you, Dorian. To make you mine. I need to fuck you. Maker, I need you. I need you.”

Dorian ceased to have difficulty breathing; he stopped altogether. Cullen's words, the intensity of the man’s gaze -- it was more than he could handle. And rather than fill him with panic, Dorian simply went into freefall. He gasped, finally, gulping air.  _ “Yes.” _

Cullen reared back. Maintaining eye contact with Dorian, he oiled up his cock, stroking himself once, twice. Dorian whined, licking his lips. His own cock ached, drops of fluid collecting on his stomach in anticipation. Cullen pulled the plug out, teasingly slow, and then got into position.

For all of Cullen's domination, he’d always asked Dorian before fucking him, always made sure the mage was ready for it. A formality only; there was never any question of whether Dorian was ready or willing. It never really registered as anything but more of Cullen's sinfully arousing pillow talk, a way to get Dorian to beg. 

This time, Cullen had not done that. He’d announced his intent to fuck Dorian, and the mage had acquiesced, true, but Cullen had not _ asked.  _ Even before Cullen was touching him, Dorian's eyes were wide, and he trembled. He wanted  _ this. _ This, the feeling of being taken. The bindings, the spankings, all the rest was just window-dressing for this: the moment, as Cullen pressed the head of his cock against Dorian, when he said, “Mine.”

Dorian could do little more than make an undignified squeak as Cullen pressed into him, the sound consumed by the Commander’s growling grunt. 

“Perfect, Dorian. So perfect,” Cullen said, his eyes clenched shut. He began to thrust into Dorian, his head hanging loose on his neck.

Each thrust brought Cullen into contact with the still-sore flesh on Dorian's inner thighs. The mage howled in frustration, straining against his bonds. The way he was bound restricted how much he could give to Cullen, and right now he wanted nothing more than to give every tiny bit of himself. 

Dorian struggled, his desire to give himself fully competing with the demands of his body. He shook his head back and forth, whimpering, almost sobbing in frustration. 

Cullen's thrusts eased up but they did not cease. Dorian wrenched his eyes open. Cullen was watching him carefully, his face glazed with lust. 

“Please, Commander. More, please, more, let me give you...” Dorian whined. The ability to string together a full sentence evaded him. 

Cullen whispered a string of obscenities. Swallowing hard, he twisted around to untie Dorian’s feet. Cullen shifted forward, pulling Dorian's hips up to lay on his thighs, holding his calves up. Again, he sank himself into Dorian.

“Oh - fuck - yes... Commander.” Dorian gasped.

Cullen was grunting with each thrust. Dorian conceded himself to it, the concept of giving himself so completely. He was close, but without a hand on his cock, there was no way for him to come at this angle. He sank into the sensations, reveling in the absolute certainty of it all. Cullen was going to fuck him until he came; Dorian’s pleasure was secondary. If he’d been in freefall before, now he was flying.

His breathing lined up with Cullen's, gasp for gasp. Dorian found himself unable to look away from Cullen's face, watching as the man raced towards his release. “Take me,” he whispered, heedless of the cliche. “I'm yours. I'm yours.” 

Cullen pounded into him, his eyes tight. And then Dorian felt the first thrust of the man’s release, simultaneous with the wide-eyed shock and relief that washed over Cullen's features. He ran his hands through his hair, shivering with aftershocks. 

Dorian smiled up at him, also a bit breathless. His cock ached and his thighs were sore, but he didn’t care. The smile gave way to shock as Cullen pulled out and sank down, lapping once at Dorian's sensitive entrance, before rising to suck the mage’s cock into his mouth.

Dorian shouted at the sudden onslaught. He hadn’t expected this. At all. The shock as Cullen's tongue pulsed along his glans was only surmounted by the pleasure. Within an embarrassingly short amount of time, Dorian was thrusting shallowly into Cullen's mouth, encouraged by the Commander’s pleased moans. 

“I’m going to... fuck, I’m going to come,” Dorian gasped, still trying to understand what was happening.

Cullen pulled away, his fist curled tight around him. “I’m going to come...”

“Commander,” Dorian gasped. Cullen had him right on the edge. “Please, Commander.”

“Mmm, that's what I like to hear. Let me taste you.” Cullen wrapped his lips around the now-purple crown.

Shouting, Dorian came, sharp pulses that gave way to calming waves of aftershock. Cullen swallowed it all, moaning against him.

Dorian felt as if he were sinking into the mattress. He barely registered when Cullen untied his arms, placing gentle kisses against the red marks where Dorian had pulled against the fabric. And then Cullen wrapped himself around the mage, pulling a blanket over them both.

He must have fallen asleep, because Dorian came to with a gasp. Cullen merely held him tighter. Outside, the bell tolled four times, and Dorian was surprised to realize it was still afternoon. 

Cullen's fingers traced delicate patterns into the skin of his upper arm. “Let me guess. You have to get up.”

“I do, rather,” Dorian conceded. “And no doubt you’ll have a mountain of reports on your desk by now.”

Cullen hummed in agreement, then leaned up for a kiss. “I’ll have plenty of time to go through them after you’re gone.”

The words were like being plunged into dark and icy water. The comfort of the moment had distracted Dorian from his normal panic at the level of intimacy. He was leaving. Exactly. Distance, right? Something about needing distance?

“Was that alright?” Cullen asked suddenly. He leaned up on to one elbow, brushing a stray lock of hair from Dorian's forehead.

“What do you mean?” Dorian frowned. “It was more than alright.”

Cullen gave him a bewitching half-smile which faded into seriousness. “You haven’t given me much in the way of limits. If something changes, you must let me know. And just because we do something once, even if you enjoy it, doesn’t mean we ever have to do it again.”

“Is this your way of trying to get out of sucking me off again?” Dorian joked.

Cullen chuckled. “Most assuredly not. And that's not what I mean, and you know it. So I’ll ask again: was that alright?” 

Dorian's breath caught in his throat. The moment stretched as Dorian was caught between the desire to flee the keep and never look back, or admit that he’d never wanted anything more than to give himself to Cullen in every possible way. Dammit. This was definitely a moment where the ability to tell a convincing lie would come in handy. 

“This is all very new,” Dorian managed. “It’s... a lot to process.”

Cullen's jaw clenched, and the faintest hint of a wince tightened his eyes, but otherwise his expression remained the same. And then he smiled, a sad, heartbreaking sort of smile. “Is that why your hand was the first in the air to leave the keep tomorrow?”

Dorian swallowed hard, unable to bring himself to answer. The realization came crashing into him, just then, that Cullen might have some feelings about the matter. Until that moment, Dorian had literally not considered how the man felt at all.

Dorian's mouth was open to answer, but when the response came it was not in words. Instead he began to tremble, a quiver that seemed to emanate from his core and out through his limbs. 

He watched, speechless, as pain, and then sympathy flashed across Cullen's face. And then Cullen was wrapping him in an embrace. 

“It’s becoming apparent to me that I’m a very selfish person,” Dorian whispered, by way of apology. 

“Luckily you have many other sterling qualities,” Cullen said, by way of absolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we finally know why Hawke never got picked up by the Templars in Kirkwall. ;)


	15. The Chivalry of the Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian tries to find clarity in Emprise du Lion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: Minor suggestion of past non-con/slavery for a background character.

Dorian decided Emprise du Lion had earned an altogether separate measurement of temperature, directly between “frigid” and “heat death of the universe”.

Not that anyone else seemed to mind the cold. Bull had conceded to the weather by donning an undertunic, though Dorian suspected that had more to do with preventing the frost that melted on his body from rusting the Qunari’s buckles and pauldron. Varric wore a coat and gloves, adding a scarf to keep the ice crystals from his precious chest hair. And Cadash had bundled up in layers of snoufleur-skin armor, and therefore didn’t feel the cold. 

Dorian wished he’d taken her up on the offer to get a set of robes crafted from the chill-resistant material. If only it wasn’t so  _ ugly _ .  Dorian's olive-tinged skin looked best with rich cream, midnight blues, and vibrant maroon, not dun brown. 

After two days of listening to him whine about it, Bull scratched at the base of his horns in confusion. “Why don’t you use magic to keep warm?”

Dorian gave a long-suffering sigh. “Does the Qun not impart even a basic understanding of magical theory, then? Oh, wait, what am I saying. You don’t even admit to dreaming.”

“Look, either tell me or don’t, but don’t be an asshole about it,” Bull said. 

“Sorry,” Dorian said, chastened. “This place. It’s getting to me.”

“It’s alright,” Bull waved magnanimously.

“Whoa, whoa, wait. Sparkler, did you just  _ apologize  _ for being a snippy little hothouse orchid? Inquisitor, we gotta head back to camp. Get an official account written into our records. Maybe hire a bard.” Varric said.

Dorian glared at the dwarf. After a moment he turned back to Bull, ignoring the jibe. “I can’t heat myself with magic because it drains my mana. And that makes you susceptible to cold. It’d be like purposely exerting yourself into sweating. You’ll be warm for a little while, but then the chill will be worse.”

“Huh,” Bull said. “Never knew that.”

“What, the part about the magic, or that Sparkler could apologize?” Varric said. He grinned as he ducked his head away from a poorly-aimed fireball. “Now now, don’t make yourself even more cold,” he chided.

“You know I could just set all your chest hair on fire, Varric. Or accidentally lose control around your manuscripts.”

It wasn’t just the cold that had Dorian on edge. The entire region was simply bursting at the seams with red lyrium. Vivid crimson crystals jutted up from the ground like broken teeth, singing to him. It was a constant, heady thrum, ranging from just on the edges of his consciousness to an angry whisper. Sometimes he found himself almost shouting, the surprised looks on his companion’s faces reminding him that they could not hear the nightmarish tune. 

Between the cold and the red lyrium, Dorian was well and truly distracted from any bothersome thoughts about Cullen. He tumbled into his bedroll each night too exhausted to think about anything but scooting as close to Bull’s warmth as possible. Bull, for his part, did not mention Cullen at all, although his lack of physical overtures was a tacit acknowledgement that Dorian was involved with the Commander.

It was going quite well, really, until they returned to the camp one night. A courier had arrived earlier in the afternoon, bringing correspondence for the Inquisitor, as well as a large, bulky package for Dorian.

“What’s this?” he asked, confused. 

The courier just blinked at him. “Er, don’t know, Ser.”

Dorian huffed, biting back a snide remark about rhetorical questions. He untied the twine and folded back the fabric covering. 

It was a cloak, a beautiful navy blue, lined with wool and accented with a silver clasp. Underneath was a pair of gloves, and at the very bottom of the packet were boots. Lovely, delicious boots lined with shearling. Dorian felt warm just looking at them. Inside one of the boots was a parchment scroll. 

He unrolled it, the familiar handwriting filling him with both excitement and dread.

_ Dorian, _

_ The Inquisitor told me you wouldn’t accept robes for this mission. Hopefully these suit your needs. They are made with bear hide, and provide excellent protection from the cold. Feel free to inform Cadash that the leather in question did not come from Inquisition resources. I procured it myself. Given that you’ve never truly experienced cold before, I will not take you to task for refusing to properly outfit yourself for reasons of vanity. I will, however, expect you to model these for me upon your return. I merely wish to ensure the craftsmanship and fit, of course. Maker be with you. _

_ Yours, _

_ Cullen _

He stared for a long time, his gaze volleying between the note and the gift, though after a moment he was no longer truly seeing both. Dimly, he was aware that the others were watching in curiosity. Surely, he should make a joke, or say something. Anything, really. 

Instead, he turned, putting the items into his tent. When he emerged, no one made mention of the delivery. 

Dorian spoke little throughout the evening meal, instead staring into the flames, placing bite after bite of whatever was in the bowl Bull gave him into his mouth, until the spoon scraped the bottom. Heedless of the conversation around him, he heaved himself to his feet and found his tent.

Inside, he conjured a wisp for light. His mind felt strangely blank, as it had when Cullen had said “I want you.” Flickers of thought came and went without taking hold, minnows that slipped through his fingers. He traced his fingers over the cloak, still not certain that it was quite real. The clasp at the throat sparkled. He unpinned it for closer examination.

It simple, just a round piece of metal embossed with the head of a lion. Of course. He turned it over -- there was no other mark, no engraving. No need. The implication was there, as certainly as if Cullen himself were standing over him:  _ mine . _

The tent flap rustled, and, predictably, Bull scrambled in. He sat on his bedroll, his legs crossed. Dorian's thumb ran over the ridges of the clasp in his hand. He’d had tried to find clarity through distance, yet seemed unable to squirm out of Cullen's grasp. And it was becoming all but impossible to pretend he even wanted to.

“No one’s ever gotten me a gift before,” Dorian explained finally.

Bull wiped at his eyes. “Andraste’s tits, Dorian, even my tama slipped me the occasional cake. You telling me your parents never got you gifts?”

“Of course they did,” Dorian snapped. “Lots of them. Staffs, robes, books, each a reminder of my intended role, a tool I was obligated to use whether I liked it or not. When I was fourteen they got me my first slave. Helena. I was obligated to use her, as well. Didn’t quite work out the way my father intended. When he found out she wasn’t fulfilling her intended function.... I don’t know what happened to her. One day she was just gone.” Dorian sighed. “I still feel guilty about it. If I had just forced myself to do it, even a few times.... I’m not even sure she’s still alive.”

Bull growled low in his throat. _“No_. You stop that bullshit right this second. You need absolution? You have it. And it’s a fucking good thing you didn’t tell me this before we met your father. I’d have sliced him in two where he stood.”

Dorian huffed another humorless laugh. “The true test of friendship: offering to kill someone’s father. Thanks, Bull.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said seriously. He waited a beat. “You’re gonna rub the finish right off that,” Bull said, nodding at the brooch.

Dorian roused himself. “Sorry.”

“Can I see it?”

Dorian handed it over. Bull examined it closely, then gave Dorian a very intent look. “You alright?” 

“Why do you insist on asking questions you know the answer to?”

Bull snorted. “Look. Cullen doesn’t know how messed up Tevinter is. He just doesn’t want your damn tootsies to get cold. Now put out that damn light. I need some sleep.”

No one said anything the following morning as Dorian emerged from his tent in his new finery. He had to admit, it was very, very warm. 

The party continued the frigid slog through the region, slaughtering countless red Templars and freeing villagers from the ‘quarry’ near Sahrnia. After the quarry was finally clear, they returned to the nearby camp. In the morning, Cadash had received a message that an ex-Chevalier needed their help. She went ahead to meet him on the far side of the Village.

“This should be interesting,” Varric said as he, Dorian, and Bull went to meet Cadash after breakfast. “Michel de Chevin is a name with some recognition. All sorts of stories flying around about the man. He’s disgraced, you know.” 

“Oh, so we have that in common,” Dorian joked. “We can form a little club.”

“Ahhh, not so sure it’s a club you’ll be interested in, Sparkler,” Varric smirked as they rounded the demolished walls of a building. Cadash was facing them, talking to the Chevalier. She waved them over.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re -” Dorian began to say. 

And then the man turned around. There was no getting around it. He was, quite simply, heart-stoppingly beautiful. Luscious blond hair and a face that was almost comically perfect. 

Dorian stopped in his tracks. “ - talking about,” he frowned. The frown deepened when he saw the enormous Orlesian lion on the center of Michel’s breastplate. 

Varric was practically shaking with pent-up laughter.

“Ha.” Dorian said, his voice flat. “Ha. Ha.”

“Shit, he’s  _ pretty,” _ Bull said, sounding a bit dumbfounded. 

“Guys, c’mere,” Cadash called to them. She introduced them to the man, then made him repeat his request. 

“Demons,” Bull growled. “I fucking hate demons.”

“Ah, c’mon, it’ll be great,” Cadash said, her eyes gleaming. “Plus, I want that keep. So. Done deal. Michel will help us out. We get to see some of that fancy Chevalier footwork, eh? It’s gonna be great,” she repeated. “So. Varric and me’ll scope out the place up close. If you’re up for some sneaking, that is,” Cadash looked at Varric.

“Me? Sneak? I’m offended.” Varric said.

Bull snorted. “What about us, Boss?”

“I want you three to do some recon too. Try to get up high, get a view of the place. I dunno, check it out from Highgrove.” 

“You got it,” Bull nodded at once. 

Dorian sighed. “I hate heights,” he said to no one in particular.

To his surprise, Michel piped up. “I also dislike high places. However, I will do whatever is necessary to slay this demon.” His voice rang with sincerity.

Dorian blinked. He’d gotten so accustomed to the banter in their little party that the remark was completely unexpected. “Er, well... that goes without saying, doesn’t it?”

“Moving on,” Cadash said. “Actually, I mean it. Literally. Let’s go. Meet back at the Bone Tower day after next.”

Since they’d done such a thorough job hacking through the waves of red Templars over the last few weeks, there were few enemies on the way to Highgrove camp. Dorian spent the day instead climbing icy, jagged rock outcroppings, listening to Bull flirt outrageously with their temporary companion.

Dorian was surprised to see how the Qunari’s tactics changed. With Dorian, Bull’s flirting had been overtly sexual, bordering on harassment. With Michel, the huge Qunari was a model of courtly manners. Dorian had a hard time restraining his laughter, hearing Bull be so polite.

It was doubly difficult because the chevalier did not seem to understand the concept of humor. At all. Dorian had always thought that Cullen had no sense of humor, but in comparison to Michel, the Commander was a veritable comedian. At least he laughed at Dorian's jokes, anyway. And sometimes came up with a few of his own. And when he smiled... the way those little crinkles formed at the corner of his eyes. How much effort had Dorian put into making those eyes smile?

“Hey, watch it, Dorian,” Bull said as the mage’s foot slipped on a patch of ice and he tumbled to the ground.

“Are you injured?” Michel was at his side at once.

“Pride only,” Dorian smiled, dusting himself off. “Lucky I have so much of it.”

Michel nodded seriously and began to climb. Dorian looked incredulously at Bull. The Qunari shrugged, then looked up as the blond began to climb up the rocks. “Holy shit will you look at that  ass?”  He grunted and began to climb after him.

Dorian did, indeed, look at that ass. It only reminded him of Cullen. Vishante kaffas. With a start, he realized he was running his fingers over the clasp of the cloak. He hurriedly dropped his hands and began to climb.

They camped at Highgrove that night, Bull keeping up his relentless assault on the poor man. When Michel finally made an excuse to check on his gear and left the circle of firelight, Dorian took pity on him. “Bull, leave the man alone, won’t you?”

“What, is it bothering you to see me flirt with someone else?” Bull’s voice was saccharine sweet.

Dorian groaned. “It’s bothering me that you’re not taking the hint. He’s not interested.” 

“Oh, he’s interested, all right. He’s  _ very  _ interested. He’s just a bit intimidated. Doesn’t want to admit what he really wants.” Bull said. “I get that a lot, down here. Trust me, Dorian. I understand that no means no better than probably anyone. Except maybe Cullen. Just you watch. By the way, hope you can sleep in those boots. You’re on your own tonight.”

“What?” Dorian spluttered. “Are you joking?”

“Afraid not.” Bull said, watching intently as Michel finished fiddling with his bags on the other side of the camp and began to walk back.

As the man approached, Bull rose. He stretched hugely, the firelight dancing across the vast expanse of his chest. “Well. I am exhausted. Haven’t hiked like that in a very long time. I think I’m going to get some rest. Michel de Chevin, it has been an honor to work with you today. I look forward to fighting by your side.” Bull bowed his head and held out his hand.

Michel blinked in surprise, offering his own hand automatically. Gracefully, Bull bent down and kissed it, a very slight brush of the lips. Before Michel could respond, he rose and waved to Dorian. “Try not to let too much cold air in the tent when you come to bed,” he said.

“What?” Dorian's question went unanswered as Bull strode towards their tent and disappeared under the flap. 

Michel was blinking rapidly, no doubt in confusion. He looked at his hand as if it might bite him. “Are... you...?”

“Friends? Yes.” Dorian finished the thought. “Nothing more, I assure you.”

“I... see....” The chevalier’s tone indicated he did not, in any respect, see.

Dorian sighed. “Sit down. Here, hold on, let me just....” Dorian leaned around and grabbed his pack from where it rested behind his back. He pulled out a small flask. “It’s disgusting. I recommend small sips.”

Michel took the bottle, still casting confused glances at the tent. He took a swig and then coughed. “By the Maker, what  _ is  _ that?”

“Our illustrious leader insists that it’s whiskey,” Dorian drawled, recovering the bottle and taking a nip. He passed it back. “You should know, in the interest of full disclosure, that what you’re considering right now is entirely worth it.”

“I beg your pardon! I’m sure I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean,” Michel protested. He took another swig, his eyes going back to the tent. After a moment, the import of Dorian's remark seemed to hit him, and he turned back. “Is there a different definition of ‘friendship’ in Tevinter, then?”

“More that there’s a different definition in the Qun,” Dorian said. 

“I see.” Michel handed the bottle to Dorian. “Does that not bother you?”

Dorian laughed, and took a pull from the flask. “Not in the slightest. Trust me, there’s enough Bull to go around. Several times over.”

“Are you... still....”

“Ha! No.” Dorian shook his head. He fingered the clasp of his cloak. 

Michel leaned over to take a closer look. “That is not the lion of Orlais,” he noted. His face was very near when he raised his eyes to look at Dorian. “And I have not only noticed the Iron Bull. This Inquisition... it is full of tempting fruit, no?”

Dorian's eyes flicked down to the man’s lips. It would take so little to just lean over and taste. Inches, only. And yet. This time the tiny voice in his head which whispered  _ bad idea _ was not Cullen's, but his own.

Slowly, the mage leaned away, not much, not enough to insult, just enough to make his intent clear. “It is not the lion of Orlais,” he said quietly. “And the Inquisition is, indeed, full of temptation. Believe me. Some fruits are, however... not ripe for plucking. Not just now.”

“I see,” Michel said, and this time he sounded like he meant it. “Well. In such concerns I am ever pragmatic. And now I also seek a place to lay my head. If you have no objections?”

Dorian gave him a hint of a smile and waved him off. “Enjoy your evening, Michel de Chevin.”

Without the conversation to provide stimulation, the flickering firelight soon made Dorian sleepy. Or perhaps it was the dismal excuse for whiskey. He took one more swig, emptying the flask, then headed to the unoccupied tent.

It was practically on top of the tent in which Bull and Michel were currently and conspicuously not sleeping. After a few moments of listening to the muffled moans and gasps, Dorian had half a mind to soundproof the tent. Unfortunately, the call of the red lyrium was not susceptible to the spell. He'd rather listen to the sounds of Bull fucking Michel's brain out, frankly. 

Dorian closed his eyes, huddled in his blankets, his cloak spread over top. At least he was warm. The sounds emanating from next to him grew louder. No doubt they were inaudible from the far side of camp, where the other Inquisition troops were sleeping. But to Dorian, they might as well have been in the same tent.

The sounds were, perhaps inevitably, having an effect on Dorian's body. He hadn’t touched himself since he left Skyhold. It felt wrong, somehow, to get himself off while lying next to Bull. Bull, of course, had no such issue. He was clearly very skilled in sharing a tent. He never made a sound, hardly even altered his breathing. Still, Dorian frequently awoke from sleep, sensing, more so than hearing, the motion of the Qunari lying next to him. 

Still, Dorian couldn’t do it. He told himself it was because he wanted distance, clarity. Hard to get that while fantasizing about the curve of scarred lips, the press of fingers into willing flesh, the flick of tongue against straining, sweaty skin. 

Michel gave a warbling, gasping whine. “Damn it all,” Dorian muttered. He knew what that sound meant. Bull was no doubt easing his cock into the man, slow and steady and insistent. 

Fucking hell. Dorian shoved his hand under the blankets, yanking the waistband of his trousers loose. Easy enough to imagine himself in Michel’s place. He’d certainly been there often enough.

_ There it is, _ Dorian thought a few moments later. The rhythmic sound of Bull’s grunts. Michel gave a yelp of pleasure, and Bull answered with a laugh.

Dorian heard the Qunari speak, low and clear. “Noisy, aren’t you? I’ve got something for that, if you want.”

“Maker, yes. Please,” Michel begged.

Dorian held his breath. A second later, he heard Bull say “Open. Just like that.”

“Fuck,” Dorian whispered, pumping at himself at the words, the same Cullen used.

“Did you hear something?” Michel’s voice sounded panicked. Dorian froze.

“Nope,” Bull said. “Don’t worry. The soldiers can’t hear. It’s fine.” There was another pause. “Mmm, I wish I could see you, gagged. It must be beautiful.” Bull’s voice was tinged with awe.

Dorian cast about briefly, then stuffed the edge of his blanket into his mouth. It would have to do. He resumed stroking himself, in time to the Bull’s grunts. 

Dorian imagined himself under Bull, the Qunari’s huge hands shifting his body just so. The heat of him, that soft skin. Dorian gave himself over to it, remembering the way Bull’s muscles bunched and relaxed. The way their bodies fit together so perfectly. The scrape of stubble, and the hot, open kiss of scarred lips.

Dorian realized he was no longer thinking of Bull. It was too late, by that point. All he could think of was Cullen.

Cullen on top of him, claiming him, as he had the night before Dorian left. Cullen gagging him, then making Dorian ride him until he came. Cullen tying him to the bed, bringing him to the edge over and over, not letting him come until he wept and begged. Cullen standing him against a wall, lacing his back and ass with a belt, while he brought himself to release.

The sounds gained in intensity, if not volume. Dorian was so close, now. So close. The fantasies crowded fast and thick. The sound of Cullen's voice, whispering ‘mine’ as if it were a benediction as he took what he wanted. The feeling of his cock pounding relentless while his lips kissed sweeter than honey. The way he broke something open in Dorian, leaving him breathless and hungry and wanting more.  _ More, please, just a bit more, please Commander. Please, Cullen. Cullen. _

Dorian bit down so hard on the blanket his teeth hurt. He spurted into his hand, bucking his hips wildly. A few feet away, he heard the telltale growl of Bull’s orgasm. From the grateful, muffled whimpers, Dorian guessed that Michel had also come at some point. 

Gently, Dorian loosened his jaw. He huffed a breath in frustration. So much for clarity. The only thing that seemed clear right now was that Cullen had gotten to him, somehow worked his way so far into Dorian's head that he couldn’t even think of anyone else properly. His thoughts were a swirl of confusion, as they’d been before he left Skyhold. It was a long time before he fell asleep, knowing as he drifted off that the nightmare of dark water awaited him, as it always did in times of confusion. 

Two days later they assaulted Suledin Keep. Michel did not assist them in battle after all, instead opting to protect the remaining residents of Sahrnia. Still, they managed to limp through to victory, defeating Imshael the ‘Choice Spirit’. After that, there was time to relax, somewhat. The party focused on helping to manage the keep until the garrison arrived, ranging out to collect materials, or lending a hand in clearing the livable areas. It was hard labor, but honest. At least that's what Cadash kept saying.

Dorian, frankly, thought it was an enormous waste of their collective talents. Still, he largely held his tongue. Soon, the garrison would arrive -- troops from Skyhold. Dorian was fairly certain the regiment would be led by the Commander of the forces. 

When the troops finally arrived, Cullen was absent. Conspicuously so. “Where’s the Commander?” Dorian frowned to Cadash, shading his eyes with his hand as he watched the troops approach from a distance, led by Captain Rylen.

Cadash spluttered. “Ah... he didn’t think it was a good idea to come here.”

“Why not?” Dorian protested, realizing too late that he probably sounded needy.

Cadash looked at Bull. “Um... you’ll have to ask Cullen that yourself,” she said finally. She sounded hesitant, worried -- in other words, totally unlike herself. Before he could question her further, she slipped away.

Doubt began to gnaw at him. Was Cullen  _ avoiding  _ him? Even if he wasn’t, what was the cause for secrecy? 

“It’s not what you think,” Bull said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, so  _ you’re _ in on this secret as well? Wonderful. Perfect.” Dorian fumed. 

Jealous fury consumed him. How  _ dare  _ Bull know this secret, when Dorian did not? Why was Bull more trustworthy than Dorian? It was the heat of his anger that brought him up short. He had no right to feel this angry. Cullen owed him nothing. Distance had, indeed, provided clarity: the understanding that Dorian  _ cared. _ The exact nature of his feelings for Cullen was irrelevant; the thing that mattered was that it mattered at all. So much for his efforts to stay unattached. 

The emotional defense mechanism roared to life, unconscious cogs and gears grinding away to deal with this latest realization. The answer came swift and fast:  _ end it.  _ On the heels of this directive came a swarm of justifications. The arrangement was untenable, obviously. No wonder Cullen had sent a gift -- probably trying to distract Dorian from all the secrets. Time to end things before the situation worsened. Quick, clean. Maybe not painless, but best in the long run. There was nothing for it. 

A small part of him lodged a protest. A tiny voice of opposition, telling him he was cutting off his nose to spite his face. It was a mouse squeaking into a tornado; the voice was lost in the storm.

He took a deep breath, willing his anger to subside. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Let him have his secrets. I’m done caring about it.”

There was a pause. Dorian looked up at Bull. “Well? Aren’t you going to mock me for my atrocious lie?”

“Why would I?” Bull said, his voice very quiet and sad. “You’re not lying.” He patted Dorian's shoulder one more time and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm fully aware that I'm just pretty much making every minor male character gay or bi, but it's my party, etc etc. Also, Dorian's kind of an idiot. I promise the angst lets up soon. I did say slow burn, right?


	16. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's plans to break it off with Cullen go a bit astray, thanks to Cole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I left the last chapter on kind of a cliffhanger, so here's the next one lickety-split. I have up to Chapter 19 written; updates might be a bit slower from now on as I figure out how to end this damn thing (the difficulty being I never want it to end).
> 
> Mention of past suicide attempt - just a heads up in case you missed the tag.

The journey back to Skyhold seemed to go quickly, probably because Dorian didn’t want to return. Several times a day, Dorian straightened in his saddle, reminding himself: a simple, clean break, that's what was needed. It wasn’t the end of the world. It just felt like it.

When they arrived at the keep, Cullen was waiting for him at the stables, smiling, his face lit by the golden rays of the setting sun. Dorian's stomach flipped over; he’d forgotten just how beautiful the man was. He took a deep breath. _You can do this. You have to._

“I see you received my gift,” Cullen said as Dorian swung down from his horse. “I’d begun to worry the courier had been waylaid when I didn’t hear back.”

Dorian winced. He’d completely forgotten to send a note. “I apologize. This was a... difficult mission.”

“I gathered,” Cullen said. “Would you like to have dinner after you’ve settled in?”

“Actually, I was rather hoping we could speak soon. Now, if possible. In your office,” Dorian said.

Doubt and anticipation flashed across Cullen's face. “Of course. ”

They didn’t speak as they walked through the fortress. Dorian spent the time repeating his carefully rehearsed phrases in his head. He was glad for his empty stomach, which quivered uncontrollably.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Cullen leaned in for a kiss. Dorian pulled away, then hoped he wouldn’t have a lifetime of nightmares from seeing the look of pain and confusion on Cullen's face. “Cullen, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this.”

Without the golden light bathing him, Dorian could see how pale the man was, the deep purple circles under his eyes. “What? What's wrong?” Cullen's voice was tinged with panic.

Dorian shook his head. “Apparently I can’t handle this kind of arrangement. I’m sorry.”

Cullen's face was anguished. “I don’t understand. What’s changed?”

Dorian stalked the room, pacing. “It’s the secrets. At first, it was no big deal -- the  sudden changes of plan, your little clandestine chats with Cassandra. None of that mattered. We were just having a bit of fun. But now....” Dorian stopped, shaking his head. There were so many words; they flooded out of his mouth, uncontrolled. “You got to me. First man since Rilienus. And the thing is, I _know_ better. I tried to stay strong, but Maker knows, I’m a weak, weak man. You made me....” _Yours, all yours I want nothing but to be yours sweet Maker is this what it feels like_ \-- Dorian sucked air through his teeth, arresting the thought before more damage was done. “I thought I could handle it, but I can’t.”

Cullen hung his head. “Dammit,” he whispered. “Maker take me. You’re exactly right, Dorian. You deserve better. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“False apologies won’t help,” Dorian said, but his voice lacked conviction. Cullen didn’t seem to be lying.

“They’re not false. Apparently I’m no better of a liar than you. And seeing how I’ve ruined things, you at least deserve to know why.” Before Dorian could protest that he didn’t want to hear, Cullen blurted it out: “I gave up lyrium when I joined the Inquisition.”

Dorian froze, shocked. “What?”

With shaking hands, Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to be tied to the Chantry or the Templars. I wanted no part of it.” He looked down at his feet.

“But... vishante kaffas, Cullen, is that what’s been ailing you? Lyrium withdrawal?”

Cullen nodded without raising his face.

“That’s why you didn’t want to come to Emprise du Lion. You didn’t want to be near the red lyrium,” Dorian realized. His face hardened. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Dorian demanded.

“How could I?” Cullen’s head snapped up. “I spent months pining for you, just wishing you’d see me. And then you finally did, but... you were only interested in the _Commander,_ not Cullen. How could I risk having you see me so weak and helpless? You made it _quite_ clear where your interests lay. And even though I want more, so much more... Maker’s breath, Dorian, I didn’t _care,_ I just wanted you so badly that it didn’t matter. Even if I only got this one tiny piece of you, I told myself it was better than nothing. And of course, there’s the constant rumors that you were only sleeping with me to keep the Templars off your back. Hear a thing often enough and you start to wonder if it’s true.” He shook his head, turning to walk to his seat. He staggered, falling into the chair.

Dorian was at his side at once. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Cullen said, his voice dull. “Of course not. I hurt you.”

Dorian sighed. Now that he knew, the memory of the things Cullen had said slammed back into him. _I want you so badly. I have since I first saw you. I’m afraid to tell you everything I want from you, Dorian. Just know I want whatever you’ll give me. I want **you** . _ Cullen had been telling him all along, and Dorian hadn’t heard him, not properly. No one had ever said those words to him and meant them as anything more than pillow talk. It never occurred to him that Cullen was being sincere.

The tension was unbearable, but Dorian didn’t know what to do to relieve it. He was keenly aware that he lacked the experience to navigate this type of conflict. He’d spent his whole life avoiding this very situation.

Paralyzed, the seconds ticked by. Dorian's thoughts swirled around him, a maelstrom. Eventually he decided to ignore the whole thing and focus on something else: Cullen was clearly in physical distress. Despite Dorian's hurt feelings, he had no desire to see the man suffer.

With a deep breath, Dorian looked around as if coming awake. “Can I help with the pain? Do you need a potion, or...” He glanced at the desk, seeking anything that might ease Cullen's discomfort. He blinked. On the center of Cullen's desk was a wooden toy duck. “Cullen,” Dorian said, his eyes not leaving the toy. “Where did that duck come from?”

“What? How odd,” Cullen said. He picked it up. “It wasn’t here when I left. Someone’s idea of a joke?”

“Not quite,” Dorian said. “Cole, are you still here? It’s not nice to lurk.”

The spirit popped into view.

“The duck -- is this you?” Dorian pointed at the toy.

“No, I’m not a duck,” Cole said.

Dorian took a deep breath to steady himself. “I mean, did you leave it here?”

“Yes. I couldn’t find one with little wheels,” Cole apologized.

“That’s fine. Listen. I need your help. Can you go to the healers? I need a pot of strong black tea, steeped with elfroot. Can you bring that back to me here? Don’t forget to knock on the door, like Varric told you.” Dorian issued the orders in a calm, soothing voice.

Cole brightened up before disappearing. A moment later the door opened and shut.

“I take it this duck has some significance,” Cullen drawled. He winced in pain, rubbing his temple.

Dorian took the toy from him, turning it over in his hands. “A bit. You heard me mention Rilienus? One of my father’s early ploys to get me to change my ways. My first love. He came from a laetus family. Maker, he was so beautiful. Dark skin, eyes as black as night. You could get lost in those eyes. I did, frequently.” Dorian felt his brows knit together. He set the duck on the desk.

“He said he loved me. I believed him. I’d hatched this grand scheme to run away, get out from under my father’s thumb. I spoke about it endlessly. I was working up the courage to ask him to come with me. On the day I was going to ask, we met at the lover’s footbridge. He was there, and so was my father. And Rilienus told me he’d never loved me. Ever. It had all been an act. My father had paid him to pretend. He told my father about my plans, which, of course, were ruined.” Dorian knelt, looping his arm around the side of the chair. Cullen's hand tentatively rested on his hair, dragging him back to the present.

With a deep breath, Dorian continued the tale. “‘It is a weakness, Dorian’, my father said. ‘Do you see how easily you were taken in? It was not love. It can never be love. You must be strong, resist. It is your burden to bear.’ He thought he was doing me a favor. As if my father knew anything of love.”

“Maker’s breath, Dorian. I cannot believe you were fed such lies.” Cullen said.

“Yes, well.” Dorian said noncommittally. “Anyway, I wanted no part of it. To spend my life resisting, lying. At eighteen, death seemed the better option. The next day, I returned to the footbridge, with some rope and a small millstone for weight. Didn't want to risk not being able to stay under.”

Cullen's fingers clenched in his hair, then relaxed.

Dorian continued. “Turned out I didn’t know anything about making a proper knot. The rope kept slipping out. Eventually this little Soporati girl wandered up, bold as you like. She must’ve been four, maybe five. She was dragging a little wooden duck behind her. Kept trying to give it to me. I think she was trying to help. Well I couldn’t very well kill myself with a little girl watching. So I left, and came back the next day. Sure enough, she was there. Five days she came back, always with that little duck. Finally, on the last day, I was so frustrated, I heaved the stone into the river. Bad idea, because then she threw the duck into the water. She began to cry, watching it swirl in the eddies below.”

“What did you do?” Cullen whispered.

“I jumped in without thinking. And I sank, even without the stone. I almost got to the bottom, and then I remembered that girl. So I swam to the surface and grabbed the damn duck. That stupid little girl and her stupid toy saved my life.” He looked up at Cullen.

They didn't speak for a few moments. Cullen simply continued stroking Dorian's hair. It was very soothing.

Finally, Dorian laughed, though it was a deeply bitter sound. “And you know the damnedest thing about it all? On our way to Redcliffe, Cole sifted through my mind, finding good old Rilienus. And you know what Cole told me? ‘He would’ve said yes.’ If I’d found the courage to ask, he would’ve come with me. He lied, yes, but to my father, not me. He did love me. And I’ve spent the last twelve years not letting anyone get too near, based on a lie. My father’s fucking plan to keep me from falling in love worked.” Dorian rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Shit.”

“You’ve never fallen in love? Not since you were eighteen?”

Dorian flinched. For a long moment he didn’t speak, staring at the toy duck. “I... I don’t know,” he said finally, and it was the truth. “I’m not sure I know what it feels like.”

The door opened then, and Cole walked in with a teapot. He closed the door behind him, and then knocked on it.

Dorian roused himself, summoning a smile for the spirit. “Oooh, so close,” he laughed, standing up. “Thank you, Cole. You’ve been very helpful. Do you think you might leave us alone, now?”

“Yes. I like to help,” Cole said. He turned and left, closing the door behind him. Dorian held up his hand to Cullen, silencing him. A second later, Cole knocked on the outside of the door.

“Well, he’s trying, at any rate,” Dorian remarked, shaking his head. He poured Cullen some tea. “This’ll help with the headache. The caffeine in the tea opens the blood vessels, which will ease the pain, not just dampen it.”

Cullen took the cup with shaking hands, sipping the dark brew. “Ooh, bitter.” He made a face.

Dorian watched as Cullen choked down the tea. There was an instant where he had perfect clarity: he wanted to forgive Cullen. Perhaps he already had. Something had been knocked loose by that damn duck. He felt... well, if not exactly free, at least less burdened. Perhaps there was a way forward, after all. Perhaps it was not that complicated.

“Such a delicate flower,” Dorian clucked. He bent down to kneel beside the chair once more. “Apology accepted, by the way.” He took Cullen's free hand, turning it over to brush a kiss on the inside of his wrist.

“What? Are you serious? After all I’ve done?” Cullen looked both relieved and horrified.

“Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” Dorian said, his voice soft, but serious. He stood. “Now, if your offer of dinner still stands, I’ll take my leave. You let that tea take effect, and I’ll bathe and change. And shave, for the love of the Maker.” He ran his hand over the week-old beard. “Another week and I’ll look like Blackwall.”

Cullen grinned. “I rather like it. Makes you look like a pirate prince.”

“Well, you know what they say about pirates,” Dorian winked and turned to go.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Cullen called out.

“Oh, how silly of me,” Dorian grinned. He returned to Cullen, leaning down to kiss him. It went on for some time. It would’ve gone on for longer, but Dorian felt the man’s lips curving up into a smile.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was referring to this,” Cullen grinned, handing him the duck. “I like the way you think, though.”

Dorian laughed and grabbed the toy from his hands. “I’m sure you do, Commander.”

***

Dorian and Cullen walked to the Herald’s Rest an hour later. It was awkward; probably they should’ve just had a quick fuck in the Commander’s tower to take the edge off, but it was too late for that.

For his part, Dorian wanted to move past the unpleasantness, at least for the moment. He needed time to process all that had been said. He'd forgiven Cullen, but it was unclear where they stood. A part of him realized the disconnect between the need to parse his own feelings, probably best done as a solitary endeavor, and the overwhelming, almost instinctive desire to spend as much time with Cullen as possible.

Cullen, meanwhile, seemed to worry he might break the mage in two if he so much as looked at him askance. The stammering, blushing, and neck-rubbing were back in full force. Dorian found that these traits, which he once considered tooth-achingly sweet, were now sexy, in an adorable kind of way.

It felt very odd to appear in public together. Not that they'd never been seen together before. Their chess matches had been a regular occurrence, for example. This felt different. Arriving at the same place, dining together, openly? It was a foreign concept, quite literally.

Any hope Dorian might have had that their fight and reconciliation was a private matter was dashed as soon as they walked in. Bull sat with the Chargers, raising a mug in toast to something or other. The look of relief on his face when he saw the two men walk in together was palpable. Dorian was half afraid Bull might try to hug them both.

Dorian made a beeline up the stairs, finding a quiet table while Cullen grabbed drinks and ordered food. The sounds of Maryden’s mediocre lute wafted up through the building. It wasn’t so much that her songs were bad as they seemed incomplete. Dorian felt that most of them needed at least another few verses, and the bard didn’t seem to understand the concept of a bridge.

Cullen walked up a few moments later, carefully holding a brace of overfull tankards. He set these down gingerly before taking his seat.

“And what’s on the menu for this evening?” Dorian drawled, slurping the foam from the top of his beer.

“Roast bronto and meat pudding,” Cullen said.

“Meat... pudding?” Dorian wrinkled his nose. “That sounds disgusting!”

Cullen laughed. “You won’t think so when you try it,” he grinned. “It was my favorite food, growing up. I asked for it every birthday,” he admitted. “Well, technically I asked for toad-in-the-hole.”

“Toad in the -- please, please tell me this did not involve actual toads,” Dorian squeezed his eyes shut.

The sound of Cullen's laughter was worth the vague nausea. “No. It’s sausage, baked in the pudding. It puffs up, and gets golden brown and crispy, and then you drown the lot in gravy.”

“Crispy... pudding?!?” Dorian exclaimed. “Are you making this up?”

The serving girl brought a tray of food just then. Cullen took the plate of golden brown, steaming delicacies. “Well, you won’t be wanting any of these, then.” He grinned, forking two on to his plate.

“Oh, you mean a _popover,”_ Dorian said, relief heavy in his voice. “Trust me, pudding is quite something else in the north. Sweet and cold and creamy. And it is not ever crispy. Nor does it involve sausage.” He managed to spear one of the puddings with his fork before Cullen monopolized the lot.

“What did you eat on your birthday?” Cullen asked, spooning gravy from the small bowl. “I suppose you had all sorts of things to choose from.”

“Not exactly,” Dorian sighed. “My mother always threw a huge party. It was always catered, and the meal was whatever she felt would display the opulence of our wealth to best advantage. I never had any say in the matter.” He frowned into his plate. There was a lot of brown on it. A tentative forkful proved it to be quite tasty, however.

“What would you have asked for?” Cullen asked.

“I have no idea,” Dorian said, wondering aloud. “Blueberries, I suppose. Blueberries and cream.”

“That’s it?” Cullen smiled.

Dorian shrugged. “Hard to grow them in the north. Too hot. What few they manage to grow are long out of season by my birthday.”

“Which is....” Cullen waved his hand in circles, drawing the mage out.

“What’s the date today?” Dorian pursed his lips.

“Solace 12,” Cullen said.

Dorian laughed. “We just missed it - ten days ago.”

“What? Really? Happy birthday, Dorian.” Cullen smiled.

Dorian shrugged. “I’d quite forgotten. Not really my thing, birthdays,” he said. “Been a long time since I’ve celebrated one.”

“That’s too bad,” Cullen said quietly, pushing the food around his plate. “I love birthdays. It was always a big event in my house. My mother and father spent days getting ready. Father was always in charge of the cake. ‘Baking’s a thing of precision,’ he always said. My mother would roll her eyes and take care of the rest. We exchanged presents first thing in the morning. And then in the evening, we’d invite half the village over, and laugh and eat and drink until we were nearly sick,” he laughed. “Once I did become sick, actually. I was ten. I ate too much cake. Branson dared me I couldn’t eat three pieces.” He took a sip from his tankard. “That all ended when I joined the Templars, of course.”

Dorian felt a prickling in his sinuses. “How heartrendingly idyllic,” he said. The retort would’ve been more effective had Dorian managed to keep the longing from his voice.

The rest of the meal was less strained, as they pulled slowly back from the brink they'd skirted earlier. Cullen got a bit of color back into his cheeks and laughed easier; Dorian's remarks sharpened to a razor-edge while his flirtation resumed its normal outrageousness. By the time they pushed their plates back, they might have been at the chess board. It felt good. It felt right.

“Well,” Dorian said, emptying his tankard.

“Well,” Cullen smiled.

There was a pause, and then they both laughed. Cullen scratched at one eyebrow. “This is awkward.”

“A bit,” Dorian admitted. “How did we manage before? It always seemed to just happen.”

Cullen looked up at the rafters thoughtfully. “That’s a good question,” he laughed.

Dorian crooked a finger, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. He gave a conspiratorial look to either side. “How about this. If anyone asks, we just agree that there was some spectacularly loaded innuendo. And I take you back to my quarters, and you fuck me to pieces. Sound good?”

Cullen's smirk was lethal. “More than good.”

“Thank the Maker,” Dorian sighed. “Let’s go.”

Mercifully, no one stopped them on the way out of the tavern to chat, though Sera did elbow Varric significantly. The dwarf’s hand reluctantly went for his coin purse.

Once the door to Dorian's room closed, the mage was unsurprised when Cullen claimed a kiss, desperate and rough. What was surprising was that Cullen almost immediately began ripping Dorian's clothing off without speaking, the only sounds coming from the Commander’s mouth being small grunts and gasps. Within seconds his shirt had fallen to the ground. A moment later, Cullen sank to his knees, pulling Dorian's breeches down and swallowing his cock hungrily.

After almost a month of celibacy, the sensation of Cullen's tongue was almost too much to bear. Dorian's hips jerked forward. The Commander pushed Dorian's legs wide. Within the space of one long upward suck and the following downward swallow, Cullen slicked up a finger and pressed it into Dorian.

The mage’s legs began to shake as Cullen found his prostate. Dorian couldn’t stop moaning if he wanted to, his hands clutching at Cullen's shoulders for support. And then suddenly it was over, as he spilled hot and fast into Cullen's mouth.

The Commander didn’t allow for much time to recover, spinning the still-dizzy Dorian to face the door. Dorian's hands were shoved on to the rough wood, and his hips pulled backwards. Cullen still hadn’t spoken, had barely made a sound, in fact. Somehow the lack of words made it all the more desperate and delicious.

A brief fumbling, and then Cullen's fingers were pressing into him again, this time slicked with oil. Dorian rutted backward, shameless, urging Cullen on. His body was over-sensitive, aftershocks still wracked through him. Didn’t matter. He needed to feel Cullen inside him.

When Cullen finally pressed his cock into him, relief and discomfort fought for supremacy. Dorian hissed, the sound becoming a wordless moan as Cullen pressed further and further inside. That first thrust was gentle and slow, a long climb to the hilt, and a smooth slide out.

The next thing Dorian felt were Cullen's teeth, sinking into the skin where shoulder met neck. It wasn’t painful, but Dorian froze. Not from fear of being hurt, but from the knowledge that Cullen wanted him to stay still. A satisfied hum from the Commander confirmed this. And then it began.

When Dorian had asked to be fucked to pieces, he’d never imagined how literally Cullen would take him. Cullen pounded into him, slow, jolting thrusts as he held Dorian's hips steady, the better to slam into him. He felt like he might shake apart at the seams.

It was exactly what Dorian wanted. Cullen may not have spoken, but Dorian found the words began to slip from his own lips. _Take me. Yes. That's it. Fuck me. Please. I need it. I need it. Harder. Harder._

The pace increased, Cullen pistoning in and out, almost whimpering into Dorian's skin, his fingers pressing bruises into Dorian's hips. Cullen's teeth bit down, and Dorian knew there would be a mark, in exactly the place exposed by his collar. That knowledge added a gilt sheen to the satisfaction coursing through him.

“Come, Cullen. That's it.” Dorian whispered. He swore he could feel Cullen's release pulsing within him, as the Commander arched his head backwards with a grunt. Cullen ground into him, the final thrusts slowing in time with his breath, until he collapsed into Dorian's back.

“Are you alright?” Cullen murmured finally.

“I wouldn’t mind moving to a bed soon,” Dorian admitted. “My legs are about to give out.”

As they turned, Cullen somehow managed to pick Dorian up, moving the handful of paces to the bed and laying the mage down. The warrior himself sank gratefully to the mattress as well.

“Maker’s breath, I missed this.” Cullen snuggled next to him. He touched the blooming bruise on Dorian's neck gently.

Dorian half expected Cullen to apologize for the mark. When no apology was forthcoming, Dorian shivered in satisfaction, knowing it had been deliberate, a brand, as surely as if Cullen had said the word: _mine._ He put his hand over Cullen's. “I missed it too,” he said.

“I thought of you every evening,” Cullen admitted. “Brought myself off, thinking of every possible way to have you. And then in the morning, I’d do it again, after dreaming of you all night long.”

Dorian groaned. “That sounds so much better than my month-long dry spell.”

Cullen leaned up. “What? Do you mean to tell me you didn’t touch yourself? At all?”

“Once,” Dorian admitted. “Bull decided he wanted to sample the pleasures offered by a certain blond chevalier, so I had a tent to myself that night.”

“Bull slept with Michel de Chevin?” Cullen laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”

Dorian laughed as well. “He’s quite handsome. I expect you’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

“Should I be worried? Is this a thing for you? Blond warriors?” Cullen joked.

With sickening clarity, Dorian remembered how close he’d come to kissing Michel. Something must’ve shown in his face, because the smile slid from Cullen's lips. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, though there were no accusations in that expression.

Dorian cleared his throat. “In the interest of full disclosure, he did offer.”

“Did he?” A nerve worked in Cullen's jaw.

It happened quickly. Something inside Dorian shifted and was set in motion. He felt as if he was rushing towards some blinding light, a shimmering veil beyond which lay something vast and unknown and terrifying and exciting. It was not unlike the sensation of swimming, hitting the bottom and kicking off, propelling oneself up, up, about to breach the surface.

“I declined. Politely.” Dorian said. There was a force underneath him, the opposite of gravity, bubbling up, buoying him, undeniable.

“Did you? And why’s that?” Cullen couldn’t keep the relief out of his voice.

Dorian fought for breath, for words. “I didn’t want him. I....” There was another moment where he stared up at Cullen, into those amber eyes. “You remember what you said before? About me only wanting the Commander, and not Cullen?”

Cullen nodded.

“That’s not true,” Dorian whispered. “I _do_ want Cullen. Not an arrangement. I want... to be with you. I want _you._ And no one else.”

Twelve years was a long time to spend underwater. The emotions crowded around him, crashing on him in waves as he gulped for breath above the surface. There was too much all at once, too many feelings to name - he felt brave and afraid and foolish and ecstatic and safe and vulnerable, all at once. Cullen was there, though, his embrace a lifeline.

The next morning, Dorian slept very late and awoke alone. He had a momentary twinge of panic before he remembered coming half awake when Cullen had let himself out in the morning, kissing the mage’s temple before he left and saying something about breakfast. Or had he dreamed that?

Apparently not: there was a covered tray on his nightstand. Dorian lifted the lid. Underneath was a small bowl of blueberries and a container of cream. There was a small slip of paper as well. Dorian was already grinning madly, unable to contain himself, when he read the note.

_Next year I’ll bake you a cake._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully everyone has gotten to experience the delightful Cole/Dorian duck-based banter that the beginning of this chapter adapts. The Rilienus banter is also from the game.
> 
> Also, I know a popover isn't the same as Yorkshire pudding. I just couldn't think of a suitable analog that Dorian might be familiar with. If anyone has any suggestions, I'm all ears. Also, apparently toad in the hole isn't the same everywhere. [I'm referring to this version.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toad_in_the_hole)


	17. Hard Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian faces the Templars of the Inquisition.

Striding towards the practice ring, Dorian focused on projecting an aura of confidence, despite the throng of Templars waiting for him in formation. Dorian idly wondered if Templars had a collective name. A Tranquil of Templars? Perhaps an Annulment of Templars? He made a mental note to ask Hawke the next time they met.

Barris was in a set of chainmail, rather than Templar plate mail. He greeted Dorian with a short bow. “Ser Pavus. Thank you again for agreeing to participate.” He held out his hand and Dorian shook it.

“Anything for the Inquisition,” Dorian said. He allowed himself a brief glance at the assembled troops. There were no obvious glares or frowns, at least.

It was two days after his return from Emprise du Lion. During Dorian's absence from Skyhold, Leliana had managed to identify the Templars complicit in the failed attack on his person. The Nightingale was not completely convinced that the remaining Templars were uninvolved; the timing was ripe for Dorian to step up his participation with their training exercises. The increased exposure would hopefully eliminate any lingering ill-will. Failing that, it was hoped that the exercise would jostle loose any remaining negativity, bring it to the forefront where it might be dealt with.

Barris addressed the Templars. Something about respect and how he personally had come to know the Tevinter mage and had every confidence in Dorian's abilities and devotion to the cause. All in all it was rather more complimentary than Dorian had expected.

Then it was Dorian's turn. He’d never been more grateful for the lessons in oratory that his mother had forced upon him. “Nothing like a glowing introduction to get everyone’s hopes up,” he said, allowing himself to smile in self-deprecation. “Er, at ease. Do I get to say that?” Dorian looked to Barris. “Not quite up on soldierly lingo.”

Barris smiled and nodded, and the Templars relaxed from attention.

“Much better. So, yes, I am the dreaded Tevinter mage. My area of expertise is necromancy, which I’m sure just makes you lot even more comfortable with my glittering presence.” Dorian's smile widened just a fraction.

Barris laughed, and there was a scattering of chuckles. “Now. To the heart of the matter. The Venatori. As I’m sure you’ve realized by now, they’re nothing like your Circle mages or apostates, any more than Seeker Cassandra is a mere footsoldier. Mistaking one for the other would be a grave mistake. As you’ve no doubt noticed, we northern mages hold ourselves in high esteem. We’re much bolder and more confident than mages in the south. We’ve had much, much more training in battle magic. I’ve watched some of the rogue Templars fight when we were in the Hinterlands. The techniques which work on the apostates will not be effective against the Venatori. Starting with your armor. We’re not scared by the flaming sword. Full plate is an unnecessary hindrance. Which is why I’ve asked your Knight-Captain to remove a bit of his steel.” He gave a broad wink to Barris, who once again laughed.

Dorian allowed his smile to fade. “Secondly. Ser Barris tells me the standard tactic is to use dispel as a last resort. This is absolutely backwards for Venatori. Trust me. Most Tevinter mages have never experienced having their mana drained. It’s absolutely terrifying. I cannot stress that enough. I’ve fought demons, been the victim of blood magic, and experienced every kind of assault you can imagine. Nothing compares to the terror of having my mana drained.” Dorian paused, looking out at the crowd. A few of them had gone pale.

Dorian tilted his head, his voice now quiet. “I’m saying to you, as one who has felt it for myself at the hand of your compatriots, not far from where I stand now, _do not hesitate._ These Venatori deserve no less. I believe magic is a gift from the Maker. They have chosen to use this gift in service to Corypheus, this self-named God, one who represents the sum total of the worst of humanity. You have at your disposal a means by which they can feel the fear that they inflict on others. Use it.” He paused, looking out at their faces. A few were beginning to show the glimmers of respect. He’d take it. “Any questions?”

A hand near the back was raised tentatively. Dorian nodded and pointed at the young man. “What about Holy Smite, Ser?”

“Ah, an excellent question. What was your name?”

“Gregory, Ser.”

“Gregory. Wonderful. I do not recommend bothering with Holy Smite in battle. Any Tevinter mage with even a modicum of training, which is all of us, has been taught to resist that type of spirit damage. How long have you been a Templar, Gregory?”

“Four years, Ser.”

“Perfect. Come up to the front, if you would.” Dorian waved him up. As Gregory made his way up, Dorian explained. “As far as I can tell, most southern mages have been trained only to resist possession. An important skill, for obvious reasons, but there are other forms of mental resistance. As well as other ways to counter that particular ability.” Dorian led the young Templar into the practice ring. For the first time he noticed Cullen standing off to the side, his arms crossed as he watched. He must’ve arrived during Dorian's speech.

“Now. Gregory, if you’d please describe to me what happens when you cast Holy Smite on an apostate?” Dorian gestured to the Templars as if he were teaching a class.

“Er, they fall down, Ser.” There was open laughter.

“Indeed, they fall down,” Dorian laughed. “Unconscious? Nosebleeds?”

“Usually, yeah. Ser.”

“All right. Everyone a proper distance away? Good. Go on, then,” he gave a flippant wave to the Templar.

“What, you - really? You want me to Smite you?”

“I want you to try,” Dorian grinned. “There’s a difference.”

With a nervous look to Barris, Gregory shrugged. He drew his sword and focused his ability. There was a bright surge of light all around Dorian, who stood at the center of the blast with his hands on his hips, apparently unaffected.

Gregory stared at him, dumbfounded.

“To be fair, I think you did muss my hair,” Dorian conceded, running his hands along his coif. Dorian turned to the crowd. “Now, here’s the thing. Young Gregory is, no offense,” he said in aside to the blushing Templar, “Young. Perhaps a bit inexperienced. I recently discovered the unfortunate side of thirty, myself. However, if Gregory had used his ability to drain my mana - please don’t,” Dorian wheeled on Gregory again, holding up a hand. “If he’d done that, I’d be a mewling baby right now, possibly shitting my trousers.”

There was more laughter, and then another hand shot up. Without waiting to be called on, the man spoke up. “What about Barris? Surely his Smite would be successful?”

Dorian was careful to keep his smile in place as he turned to the Templar. This man was older, and he had a contentious look on his face. Dorian knew that expression. This was the type of man who posed a danger. He wasn’t here to be convinced of Dorian's loyalty or to learn anything. He was there to undermine Dorian. Time to tread carefully.

“Hmm,” Dorian said, leaning his weight on one hip, pretending to consider. “Barris. That is a good question.” It wasn’t a good question, actually. Dorian was just buying time, trying to decide whether it would be more beneficial to resist the Smite to prove his point or take the hit to prove he wasn’t dangerous.

“I’m sorry, no, I cannot allow that,” Cullen said, walking up from his vantage point along the sidelines. “Too dangerous.”

Shit. This was exactly what Dorian didn’t need. “Commander. Surely I can be the judge of that?”

Barris looked from one man to the other, unsure. The tension in the practice ring skyrocketed. The Templar who’d asked the original question looked incredibly smug.

“Dorian,” Cullen's voice was firm. “Do you know what the Inquisitor would do to me if I allow her favorite mage to get injured in the practice ring?”

A voice came from somewhere in the middle of the throng of Templars. “No more so than out of it, I hear.” There was a skittering of laughter.

The Commander frowned, turning slowly to glare at the assembled Templars. Apparently the details of their relationship were no longer a secret.

Dorian rolled his eyes. He was losing the Templars. “As you well know, my dear _Commander,”_ Dorian drawled, “I’m more than capable of taking a bit of punishment. Now. You wouldn’t send these lads and lasses out with swords wrapped in wool padding, would you? They need to see what northern mages are capable of.”

Cullen frowned at him. “I’d say you’re a little more skilled than the average Venatori, Dorian. Is this really necessary?”

“How many people like Alexius do you think have turned, Cullen? Yes. It’s necessary.” Dorian kept his voice even and his eyes trained on Cullen's. “Barris, make ready. We’ll spar. I’ll limit myself to defensive magic only. Wouldn’t want to singe those beautiful cheekbones. And use your ability, so I can demonstrate the proper defense.”

Cullen's jaw worked as he stared at Dorian, but he backed away. The tension in the ring was now astronomical. Dorian retrieved his staff and removed the decorative mantle from his armor.

Dorian intended all along to have at least some form of combat demonstration with Barris - hence the chainmail. This, though, went beyond what he and the Knight-Captain had discussed. Still, Dorian's back was against the wall now.

Barris strapped a shield to his arm and drew his sword. Dorian cast a barrier and took a defensive posture.

There was a moment where Barris watched him, though it was unclear whether he was assessing Dorian's readiness or some other factor. After a moment, he charged.

Dorian spun to the side. It should’ve taken him out of the range of Barris’ blow. But the Templar was unused to the lack of weight from his armor; his swing had too much force behind it. Not only did it connect with Dorian's upper arm, glancing off Dorian's barrier, it threw Barris off balance and he stumbled forward.

Having the Knight-Captain stagger around like a second-year initiate was not a promising start. The tension was unabated. _“Ow,”_ Dorian said loudly, forcing a hint of laughter into his voice, desperately hoping Barris would follow his lead.

Barris laughed. Dorian let out a small breath of relief when the sound caught in the crowd as well. “Shall we try that again?”

“Easy for you to say,” Dorian smiled. “It’s your pride, but my arm.” He rubbed his bicep, already beginning to bruise.

They reset and began again. This time, it went more smoothly. Barris’ attacks were controlled and deliberate, and Dorian dodged and feinted with greater ease.

A rhythm was established, as Dorian countered Barris’ attacks. It was exhilarating, really, to be able to focus just on one opponent, to test the limits of his body without fear of imminent dismemberment on the battlefield. It was just a tiny bit like sex, in fact.

The first time Dorian actually swung his staff as a weapon in its own right, catching Barris’ blade and deflecting it to the side, there was a momentary look of shock on Barris’ face, which quickly blossomed into a smile.

“Told you I’m good with my staff,” Dorian quipped.

“Apparently,” Barris grinned.

“I’m glad you approve,” Dorian smirked, then whirled the staff low, aiming for the Templar’s knees. When Barris hopped to avoid tripping, he launched his body forward at Dorian.

The mage surrounded himself with force, essentially adding to his own mass. By all rights, the warrior’s armored body should’ve sent the mage rolling to the dirt. Instead, Barris staggered backwards, one step only, as if he’d run into a wall.

“Full of tricks, aren’t you?” Barris’ eyes sparkled. “I think I’m enjoying this.”

“Oh, I’ve lots of tricks,” Dorian grinned.

“Get a room!” someone shouted. The voice wasn’t coming from the direction of the Templars, and Dorian and Barris both looked up. It was Sera, perched on her roof, eating cookies with Cadash.

The realization that he’d essentially been flirting right in front of Cullen sent a shiver of panic into Dorian's stomach. He glanced over at the Commander, who was indeed looking most displeased. “Stormcloud” might’ve come close to describing his expression, though “apoplectic rage” was possibly closer to the truth.

“Kaffas,” Dorian whispered. The momentary distraction was enough for Barris to press an advantage. He rushed forward with his shield.

Dorian leapt into a rolling tumble to his left. It got him out of the way of Barris’ shield bash, but his staff now lay a dozen feet away. There was a moment where they regarded each other. Dorian was in a low crouch. He feinted one way and then the other, without much hope; Barris tracked his movements easily.

The Templar’s eyes tightened minutely. Dorian drew in his mana. He was about to feel Barris’ Holy Smite.

It was nothing like Gregory’s paltry attempt. The force was massive, almost the radius of the ring. Had Dorian been armed, he’d have been able to focus his power through the staff easily, increasing his defensive capabilities. As it was, all he could do was brace himself, creating a second skin of electricity. He channeled his mana into the lightning crackling over his skin, allowing it to burn away like fuel for the spirit energy of the Smite. As powerful as Barris was, Dorian had no doubt that his own will was far greater.

The gamble paid dividends. Dorian managed to maintain his balance under the onslaught. As the spirit energy dwindled, Dorian cast Fade Step, sweeping through Barris and coming up behind the Templar. Dorian scooped up the staff with his toe, grabbing it and to slam it against the back of Barris’ knees, sending the confused warrior tumbling to the dirt. When Barris rolled to his back, he found himself staring down the blade of Dorian's staff.

There was another moment of tension, and then Barris broke into a broad grin. “Yield,” he said loudly.

Dorian smiled as well. “Thank the fucking Maker,” he said loudly, breathing hard. He reached down and gave Barris a hand up as the crowd laughed.

Barris gave a few orders, and the Templars began to disperse.

Dorian was still fighting for breath. “You alright?”

“Never better. Well, almost never,” Barris said, rubbing at the small of his back.

“I know the feeling,” Dorian agreed, looking at the ugly bruise now swelling on his arm.

“Oi!” A cookie hit him in the back of the head. Dorian glared up at Sera, expecting to see her laughing in evil delight, as she so often did.

The elf, however, looked worried. She jerked her head to the side.

Dorian turned and saw Cullen striding away, his steps quick and purposeful. Before Dorian could really think too hard about it, another cookie followed the first. “Go,” Sera said insistently.

Rolling his eyes, Dorian trotted off to catch up with Cullen. This proved rather more difficult than he’d anticipated. Now that the adrenaline was ebbing from his bloodstream, his legs felt a bit rubbery. Perhaps he’d overdone it on that last maneuver.

When he reached the first landing outside the Great Hall, Dorian realized there was no “perhaps” about it. He was exhausted. Still, he forced his legs to finish the climb. By the time he reached the door to Cullen's office, he was drenched in cold sweat. He’d overextended his mana, and his body was drawing on his physical energy to compensate. His attempt to rap smartly on the door failed; instead he slumped into the wood with a groan as his muscles gave way. His eyes started to drift closed. It was surprisingly comfortable, curled up in the doorway. Well. A courier would no doubt be by eventually. Hopefully before his heart stopped beating.

The door opened. “What the - Maker’s breath,” Cullen swore. Growling in frustration, he hoisted Dorian to his feet and began to drag him inside.

Dorian whimpered in pain as Cullen grabbed his bruised arm. Dimly, he was aware that his head lolled on his neck in a most undignified manner. “Sweet Andraste, Dorian, what have you done?” Cullen's voice whispered.

The last thing he remembered was Cullen sweeping him off his feet, cradling the mage to his body gently.

Dorian awoke to the smell of oil paint and the small sound of a paint brush dabbing carefully. He peeked an eye open. “Solas?”

“Dorian,” Solas said from beside him. The elf held a palette in one hand and was tracing careful patterns on the stucco of the Rotunda wall.

Dorian sat up. His mouth was tinged with the telltale metallic tang of lyrium. “How long?”

“An hour. Truthfully you needed nothing more than sleep, but our Commander was quite insistent that no risks be taken.” Solas hadn’t even glanced down at him. Not that Dorian expected much in the way of concern from the elf.

“I hate the taste of lyrium,” Dorian grumbled.

“As do I,” Solas admitted.

“Well. Thank you. That's the second time you’ve rendered aid. I appreciate it.” Dorian said, and he meant it. He might not like the elf, but that was no reason to be rude.

Solas smirked. “We apostates must stick together, as the saying goes. Any mage willing to endure two smitings in a row to prove a point deserves respect.”

Dorian huffed a laugh. “More like one and a half smitings, to be honest. They don’t make them like they used to.”

Solas barked a single laugh; it rang through the space, floating upwards. “Indeed.”

Dorian heaved himself to his feet and headed back to the battlements.

“Not that way,” Solas said, his eyes still focused on the wall in front of him. “I believe you’ll find the Commander in the Chantry.”

“Oh. How odd. Thank you.”

Dorian cut through the Great Hall and made his way to the small chapel off the garden. The tall doors cut a slice of light into the candle-lit space, falling squarely on a set of fuzzy-caped shoulders.

Cullen's head lifted, but he did not rise from his kneeling position. Dorian shut the door behind him and joined the Commander. “Having a crisis of faith?”

With a huff of bitter laughter, Cullen lowered his head once more. “You shame me, Dorian.”

It felt like a punch to the stomach. “I... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean... I’m not very good at this, Cullen. It just... I know you’re not happy with the way I handled that, and I apologize that I spoke to you so harshly in public, but those Templars, they need to know. My own safety is secondary. The Inquisition is all that matters. I thought you of all people would know that. This was your idea, essentially.”

Cullen gave a strangled groan. “Augh, no, no. I’m not upset because you argued your point. I’m ashamed of _myself,_ that I let my own feelings get in the way of what’s best for the Inquisition. Maker, and then I had the temerity to get angry with you, when you were so clearly in the right.” He looked up at Dorian, his eyes full of anguish. “You’ve given so much, Dorian. I don’t deserve... I don’t deserve any of this, least of all your affection.”

Dorian blinked in surprise. “Oh,” he said, completely at a loss. He was aware that Cullen was twisting in the wind, waiting for Dorian to say something more than “oh”. Dorian, however, was still exhausted, and utterly out of his depth. He had many skills, but consoling a lover was not among them.

Dorian sighed, finally. “You know, you’re not very good at this,” he noted.

Cullen turned to him slowly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Wallowing in self-pity. You’ve got to work up to it. You can’t just realize you’re wrong and go off and pray about it. You’ve got to really lean into it. Maybe get colossally drunk and almost sleep with someone you shouldn’t. That's a favorite of mine. Recently I ended up weeping in the Herald’s Rest - very effective. Or you could suffer in mopey silence for weeks, that's good too. Have you considered dressing in all black? Writing terrible poetry?”

By now Cullen was laughing, and Dorian's stomach began to unclench. “I see I’m addressing a master.”

“Oh yes,” Dorian grinned. “My life’s work, really. The necromancy is just a front.”

Cullen was still laughing. He reached over and grasped Dorian's hand, clasping it in his own.

Dorian tensed momentarily at the gesture, then forced himself to relax.

“Even this tiny thing?” Cullen asked, a sad smile on his face. He did not let go of Dorian's hand.

“Apparently you’re not the only one with lessons to learn,” Dorian murmured, his eyes falling shut.

The sensation of Cullen's lips on his own was welcome. But then Cullen jerked back, swearing and wiping his mouth, panic on his face.

“Damn,” Dorian hissed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” Of course Cullen wouldn’t want to kiss him just after he’d drank a lyrium potion.

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s fine. I’ll be okay. I’m fine,” Cullen muttered, shivering.

Dorian fought the urge to apologize more profusely. Being sorry wouldn’t help the man, after all. Instead, he sighed. “We are quite the pair, you and I.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose so.”

“Listen, I’m utterly exhausted. I must sleep for a bit. I imagine you’ve work to do as well. Can... can I see you? Later?” He hoped that the quake in his voice could be blamed on the aforementioned exhaustion. It was harder than he imagined, asking to spend time with Cullen.

Cullen stared at him, his expression unreadable. As the moment stretched, the quake began to sink into Dorian's chest. “Or... not. If you’ve changed his mind about... things. I could hardly blame you, if you did. I’m not the easiest person to deal with, Maker knows, and I can’t help but flirt sometimes.... I didn’t mean to get so carried away, it was just so exciting, I didn’t realize until it was happening and then -”

“Dorian. Do shut up. I’d no sooner ask you to stop flirting than to shave your moustache.” Cullen said. “The only reason I didn’t answer right away is because you’ve never asked me for anything more than a chess game. Took me by surprise, is all.”

“Oh. Well then. Good,” Dorian felt his heart start to beat again. When had it stopped? “Fine. I’ll... ah...”

“I’ll come to your quarters later, and we can take it from there, depending on how you feel,” Cullen cut him off.

“Good. That's... good. Sorry,” he frowned. “Quite tired again suddenly. Hard to think.”

“Come on,” Cullen said, helping him to rise. “Let’s get you to bed. I want you rested up for later.”

“Why? What’s happening later?” Dorian yawned.

Cullen's low chuckle spoke volumes.

Dorian liked the sound of that. “To bed, then, Commander.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll own up to some major hand-wavery when it comes to Templar abilities and magical defenses. But, y'know, my party, cry if I want to, etc etc.


	18. A Matter of Respect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian comes to a realization at Halamshiral.

“With all due respect, Madame de Fer, you are completely and utterly mistaken. While I will admit that 9:32 had its high points, 9:33 was in all respects superior.” Dorian picked up the teapot and held his hand out for Vivienne’s teacup, which he refilled. The dining hall was almost empty, as the Inquisition workers had finished their morning meal and moved on to the day’s work. It had become something of a ritual for the members of the inner circle to linger and catch up over tea. Seeing as they regularly risked their lives in the field, some laxity was permitted in their day-to-day duties.  

“My dear Dorian,” Vivienne drawled. “You, of all people, should understand the folly of measuring success by calculating the mean.” She sipped her tea.

Cullen walked up and laid a hand on Dorian's shoulder. “Still arguing, I see,” he sighed. “What is it this time?”

“Which year is better for poncy wine,” Sera said from a few seats away. She had her feet resting on the table and was picking at her teeth. “It all gets you drunk, what does it matter when it was made?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, darling,” Vivienne cooed. “If your palette is as unrefined as your fashion sense, I’d say the subtlety would be entirely lost on you.” She set down her teacup and rose with leonine grace, sweeping from the room.

Sera made both a rude noise and a rude gesture as the enchantress left. “I’m not stupid, y’know,” she said to no one in particular. “I know some wine is shit and some tastes good.”

“Yes, well, if you know enough about weather and climate and terroir, you can tell if a wine’ll be good when it’s still grapes,” Dorian said. “Apparently Vivienne believes that just because a year had three outstanding vintages and a myriad of undrinkable bilge, it’s still better than the year with dozens of very good wines.”

“And that surprises you... why?” Varric laughed. “You’ve pretty much summed up Vivienne’s outlook on everything, not just wine.”

“Perhaps,” Dorian smirked. He looked up at Cullen. “What can I do for you?”

“Just making sure we’re still on for dinner later.” 

“Of course,” Dorian said brightly. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Cullen smiled, those adorable little crinkly creases appearing at the corners of his eyes. “Seven bells.”

“Seven bells,” Dorian agreed, watching Cullen walk away. Shame the fuzzy cape covered up his assets. 

“What? No smooch?” Sera made some obnoxious kissy noises on her hand.

Varric laughed. “Give the man some credit. He didn’t flinch or break out in hives or anything.”

“Ha. Ha.” Dorian glared at the dwarf, though inwardly he had to admit Varric had a point. Now that there were no enormous secrets looming over them, Dorian began to relax. In the weeks since Dorian had returned from Emprise du Lion, some things became easier, but not everything. Arriving to meals together, for example, no longer sent Dorian into a mild panic, largely because no one seemed to notice. The dining hall and tavern at Skyhold were not the same as the cafes and restaurants of Minrathous; they were places to eat and drink, not see and be seen.

Affection in public, however, was more of a challenge. Flirtatious touch was second nature to Dorian, but even the idea of holding hands made his throat clench closed. Cullen was patient with the mage’s idiosyncrasies and did not push for more than Dorian was able to give. The Commander didn’t seem prone to excessive displays of affection, which helped. 

All in all, it was quite pleasant. This new phase of their relationship was still a learning experience for Dorian. This kind of casual, yet committed romance was something Dorian had never realized existed; there was no analog in Tevinter, or at least not between two men. It wasn’t outwardly much different from an arrangement or affair, save that there was no secrecy involved. They snatched time together during the day when they could - the odd chess match or luncheon - and spent their evenings with each other. It was altogether comfortable.

Not that everything was going smoothly. Skyhold was currently abuzz with tension. It seemed the entire Inquisition was on edge as they prepared to begin the journey to Halamshiral in the morning. That was one thing Dorian was, thankfully, not worried about. Granted, the event was Orlesian, not Tevene, but court was court. The Grand Game was not worrisome to the Scion of House Pavus.

It was, however, to the Lion of Honnleath. Cullen hardly spoke at dinner, though Dorian did manage to coax a few reluctant smiles out of the man. Afterwords, they retired to Cullen's tower. The trip was unlikely to afford them much time together, as Cullen would be at the head of the honor guard and Dorian would be with the inner circle. Dorian did not plan to get much in the way of sleep that night. 

“Cullen, try to relax,” Dorian said. He kneaded the Commander’s shoulders as he knelt behind him in bed. “Everything’s in order. We’re all packed and ready. What’s got you so tense?”

“What’s got me tense is the assassin,” Cullen snapped. “Or are you so looking forward to the fine wines and dancing that you’d forgotten?”

Dorian's hands froze. He  _ had  _ been looking forward to that, actually. He slid his fingers away from Cullen. Had the jibe come from anyone else, Dorian would’ve laughed it off easily. Not so now. It felt as if Cullen had sliced Dorian open from stem to stern and was packing ice into his chest cavity. 

Dorian cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Of course. Of course, you’re right. I... should go. Long day tomorrow and all that. Best get some rest.” Dorian mumbled the last few words as he hurriedly slid down the ladder. The sounds of Cullen's confused protests died away as he closed the door behind him.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, Dorian made his way to his quarters, taking the long way around. The fewer people he ran into, the better. Cullen's words ricocheted inside him, and not just the actual words, but also the contempt which had dripped from his voice. Dorian’s roundabout route took longer than it should. Cullen had beaten him to it. The Commander was waiting by his door, breathing hard as if he’d been running. “Dorian.” His voice was anguished. “I’m so sorry. Please, can - can I just talk to you?”

Dorian's shoulders sagged. Wordlessly he unlocked the door and held it wide for Cullen.

He sat, mute, while the apologies poured out of the Commander’s mouth: he felt terrible, he was on edge and nervous, he had no right to say such things. The words washed over Dorian, sliding over his skin, leaving him cold. The more Cullen spoke, the smaller and smaller Dorian felt, as if he was collapsing in on himself. He wasn’t even sure why he was so upset; never having experienced this kind of hurt before, he had no means to parse it.

“Please, Dorian, say something,” Cullen said at last. “Even if it’s just to tell me to fuck off.”

Dorian huffed at the attempted joke. “I’m not going to say that.” His voice was small.

Tentatively, Cullen reached up and ran his fingertips down Dorian's cheek. “What, then?”

Dorian folded the fabric of his blanket between his fingers. “It must be terribly obvious I’ve never done this before. I’m sorry,” he managed.

“Well, you’ve definitely got that part backwards. I’m the one apologizing here, for being a massive ass.” Cullen said. “You have nothing to be sorry for. And it’s not exactly my area of expertise either. Not much chance for romance in the Circles, you know. Especially not as an officer. Fraternizing with the troops wasn’t allowed.” He paused. “We don’t have to... tonight.” Cullen said. His voice was earnest. “Maybe it’d be best if we didn’t, in fact.”

“No,” Dorian snapped, the spike of panic shaping the word with rather more force than he’d intended. It wasn’t even a proper thought, just an instinct:  _ keep him happy, or you’ll lose this.  _ “No,” he repeated, more gentle this time. “Who knows when we’ll get some time alone again. You think I want to waste it sleeping?”

Cullen did not look convinced; concern creased his brow. When he opened his mouth to speak, Dorian leaned forward and kissed him. 

Dorian could not mask the trembling, that much he knew. Still, with any luck Cullen would mistake it for desire or forgiveness, or anything except for the naked fear that it actually was.

After a few moments, it was easy to concentrate on the physical. Familiar enough territory for Dorian, anyway. How often had he attempted to drown himself in skin and breath and tongue and teeth, thousands of little deaths? 

Cullen was hesitant at first, until Dorian's ministrations made him frantic. And then Dorian didn’t have to concentrate at all. The needs of his body swept him up as the Commander thrust into him, calling out his name. 

Afterwards, Dorian lay awake a long time, listening to Cullen's breath. Despite the apologies, the disdain in Cullen's voice echoed. Something nagged at him, a remnant of bitterness which lodged in his throat and chest even through the journey to Orlais. Luckily, his interactions with Cullen were limited. The Commander spent every waking moment either with his troops or closeted in a tent with the Inquisitor and the other advisers. Aside from brief chats at the communal meals, they hardly spoke. 

Dorian avoided Bull like the blight as well. He could sense the Qunari’s concern, and the blasted Ben-Hassrath would’ve been able to dismantle Dorian's carefully constructed armor with little effort. 

Finally, they arrived at Halamshiral. There was a flurry of activity as final preparations were made. Alone in the changing tent, Dorian forced his mind into a state of calm as he pulled on his uniform, adopting the demeanor of nobility like a cloak. 

As he packed away his traveling clothes, Dorian's hand found the silver lion brooch. He pulled it from his pack, running his fingers over the design, not quite sure of his emotions. 

The tent flap opened. It was Cullen. “There you are,” he smiled. “I looked everywhere for you.”

Dorian hurriedly shoved the brooch in his pocket. “Here I am,” he said, holding out his arms.

Cullen closed the distance between them, almost crushing the mage in a kiss, the first they’d shared since leaving Skyhold. Dorian tried to mask his hesitation, to little effect.

Frowning, Cullen pulled away. “Everything all right?”

“Of course,” Dorian lied. Somewhere outside, a horn sounded. “Come on. Time to catch an assassin.” Dorian pushed Cullen out of the tent.

There was a sea of crimson as the Inquisition formed up into a procession to meet Gaspard in the courtyard. And then the ball began in earnest. Introductions were made. Dorian allowed a superior smirk to grace his visage at the faint gasps which accompanied the announcement of his name and title.

The Empress addressed the Inquisitor from the upper floor of the ballroom. Dorian regarded her demeanor: the cold formality, the brittle edge to her voice, the tension in her fingertips as she held her arms akimbo in the manner favored by Orlesian ladies. Rather made them look like plucked chickens, Dorian decided.

Once that was over with, the first order of business was to let himself be seen. During the preparations for the ball, Josephine had warned him that he would be viewed as a pariah. “A role at which I excel,” he’d reminded her gently. “The forbidden fruit. I look forward to it,” he’d told her.

He strode purposefully throughout the galleries and gardens, making polite (and in more than one case, smoldering) eye contact. There was a trick to this, namely, to appear to be seeking a specific person. Not looking for them, but walking as if to meet someone, as if pre-arranged. In this case, it was: he walked in a circuitous loop and made his way back to Leliana. Cullen stood not far away, in the midst of a clot of admirers. Well, he did cut quite a figure in the uniform, it must be said.

“Sister Nightingale,” Dorian bowed. His posture was, if he said so himself, impeccable. He folded one arm behind his back, the other held at his side, holding the stem of his goblet near the base, scanning the room as if he owned it.

“Lord Pavus,” she smirked. 

“That man behind your left shoulder, black velvet doublet, silver mask. Who is he?” Dorian murmured into his glass. “I have a feeling I should make his acquaintance.”

The spymaster didn’t even turn. “Baron L’Ours of Montsimmard. The most powerful man in this room, at the moment. You have quite an eye, Dorian.”

“I can spot power a mile away. As well as other things. If you’ll excuse me.” Dorian didn’t wait for an answer, instead walking boldly up to the man. Being a pariah had its privileges. Dorian was not as bound by societal tradition, which would demand an introduction by a third party. He bowed in the Tevinter style and introduced himself. 

The Baron was, indeed, most pleased to make Dorian's acquaintance. Dorian knew because the Baron said so, several times. Even with the mask obscuring his face, Dorian could feel the man’s interest. Dorian flirted heavily with the Baron. To be fair, the Orlesian made it quite easy. Dorian relaxed into the familiar give and take, attack and parry. 

After the Baron offered several salacious tidbits, as well as detailed directions to his rooms in the guest wing, Dorian took his leave. It was time to make himself scarce for a few moments. His highly visible conversation with the Baron would make him a person worth seeking out. All the better to make them work for it.

He slipped out a side door onto a secluded patio. Excitement buzzed through him; he’d missed this. As satisfying as it was to slog through the countryside next to a demon-slaying dwarf, this was where Dorian truly shined. Taking a deep breath, he walked to the railing, looking over the gardens. 

Through the window, he saw Cullen. The Commander looked miserable. The clump of people surrounding him had grown like a cancer. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, rubbing the back of his neck, speaking in short bursts of words. His gaze kept darting out into the room, as if he was looking for someone. Cadash, most likely.

“Dorian.” Bull’s voice spoke from just behind him.

Dorian jumped. “Haven’t you gotten tired of playing ‘startle the mage’ yet?”

“What’s going on?” Bull crossed his arms, drawing himself to his full height. His massive body blocked the door back to the gallery.

“Now’s not the time,” Dorian said. “Didn’t you hear we’ve an assassin to catch?”

“Bullshit. Tell me. Now.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Since when do you order me around?”

“Since you started avoiding me. I know something’s wrong.” Bull tilted his head and rolled his shoulders.

“It’s none of your concern,” Dorian stated flatly. 

“It  _ is,” _ Bull growled. “It is because I  _ care.” _

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian muttered. His annoyance at Bull dislodged something in him, shifting his perspective on the kernel of pain that had become stuck somewhere in his chest. Suddenly he realized what had been bothering him. “Fine. I’ll tell you. What’s wrong is I had this silly little fantasy in my head. That things would be different with Cullen. That he... that he would respect me. As a person. And he doesn’t. It was stupid of me to have expected otherwise, but what can I say? I’m a romantic at heart.” His voice was soaked with bitterness.

“What the  _ fuck  _ makes you think he doesn’t respect you?” Bull grunted.

Dorian recounted his confrontation with Cullen before they left Skyhold. “‘Are you so looking forward to the fine wines and dancing that you’d forgotten.’ That's what he said, Bull.”

Bull blinked. “Oh, shit,” he said slowly.

“Indeed. Cullen hates all this,” Dorian said, waving at himself and the palace surrounding them. “He hates the politics, the intrigue, the drama. Thinks it’s petty nonsense. And that's  _ who I am. _ I  _ had  _ been looking forward to the fine wines and dancing. Probably the same way that you look forward to smashing your axe into the skulls of your enemies.”

Bull tilted his head, his gaze intent. “Who cares if he doesn’t like the court? Why does that even matter to you? You were happy before you found out, weren’t you?”

“It matters because I want more!” Dorian snapped. A chill passed over him, like he’d just stepped through a ghost. It hit him, then. Yes, he’d been content before. But now he knew that the cocktail of emotion he’d been feeling for the past few weeks - hell, the past few months - was, indeed, love. And Dorian wanted to share himself as completely as possible. Not just his body or his free time - all of him. Everything. And he couldn’t. Because Cullen would never truly respect this part of him. They were too different.

Dorian shook his head. “You’re right. It’s not the end of the world. Whatever romantic notions I might’ve held were clearly unrealistic. This is the best I can hope for. A mutually beneficial arrangement. He treats me well. And it’s in the open. I don’t have to hide.” 

Bull wiped a hand down his face. “Dorian, how can you be such an  _ idiot?” _

“I beg your pardon?” Dorian sniffed.

“So you think because Cullen hates the court, he doesn’t respect you?”

Dorian sighed in frustration. “Believe me, Bull. He was practically dripping with scorn. It was silly of me to think he would cherish every little thing about me. Hell, I’m a mage, and he’s an ex-Templar. He should get a medal for even that bit of tolerance. Expecting more was utterly foolish on my part.” He shook his head sharply. “Now’s really not the time. I have to get back in there. There are people looking for me. Timing is everything.”

Bull’s hands gripped his shoulders, holding him steady. “Do you respect me?”

“Of course, Bull. You know that's a given.” Dorian said at once.

“Yeah? And how much do you love the Qun?”

Dorian blinked. A very faint glimmer of hope began to dawn in his chest.

Bull continued, relentless. “You respect Cadash?”

Dorian nodded.

“Yeah, you gonna run out and join the Carta? How ‘bout this. You respect Cullen? How much you liking those Templars?”

Warmth flooded through Dorian, tingling into his fingertips as the realization hit him.

Bull turned the mage by the shoulders. “Look through that window and tell me that man doesn’t respect you. Tell me he doesn’t  _ love  _ you.”

Dorian did as he was told. Cullen was looking out the window while a courtier spoke to him. The last rays of the sun were streaming onto his hair. Even with the misery etched on his face, the man was stupendously handsome. And then his gaze shifted, and he saw Dorian.

Cullen's face lit up. The faintest hint of a smile hitched his scarred lip, and his expression was suffused with joy, wonder, awe. And not only that, he held Dorian's gaze, his smile widening, as if to make Dorian the object of that joy, that wonder, that awe. That  love.

The moment, which to Dorian's preference should have lasted a lifetime, was fleeting. Inside, the courtier said something, and Cullen blushed a deep crimson, drawing his attention back to the woman in front of him.

The hope exploded through Dorian. How had he not realized this simple thing? Had fear blinded him that badly? Apparently so. Suddenly everything seemed much clearer. All that remained was to say the words. 

Shaking his horns, the Qunari headed back inside, then turned at the last second. “Oh. Message from the Boss. She’s got everything under control. Be in the ballroom at the second bell. Probably won’t need any backup, but just in case.”

Dorian found himself standing there, staring into space. The sound of a glass breaking inside roused him. He straightened his uniform and began to gather his thoughts. A certain ex-Templar was inside, clearly out of his depth, waiting to be rescued. Dorian happened to know a thing or two about these situations.

He’d almost walked through the door, when he stopped. From his pocket, he pulled the brooch. It was not an expensive thing - made of plated steel, by its heft. Completely out of place in the Winter Palace, where everyone simply dripped with jewels or medals of honor. 

With shaking hands, he affixed it to the sash across his chest. Dorian couldn’t think of anything he was prouder to wear.    


 


	19. Hope Burns Eternal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some words are harder to say than others.

With a last deep breath, Dorian summoned an imperious smile and swept back into the party. Several people casually headed his way. Dorian performed a series of lightning-fast calculations regarding their manner of dress and body language: minor players, easily ignored. Which was a good thing, because Dorian wasn’t sure he’d have been able to make his feet walk in any direction except towards Cullen. Hell, it was all he could do to keep himself from running.

Striding up to the Commander, Dorian's smile widened, now much too bright and sincere. _So be it. Let the others be blinded._ Cullen was smiling back, ignoring the sycophants around him. 

“Commander,” Dorian said. “How are you enjoying the palace?”

“With the sight of your smile, my evening has much improved.” Cullen bowed.

The ladies and gentlemen thronged around Cullen collectively slumped. Dorian, meanwhile, clutched his chest melodramatically. “Have you been taking lessons, my dear Cullen?” Dorian's smile by now could’ve lit the entire room. The entire palace. Hell, maybe most of Val Royeaux as well.

“I heard someone else say it earlier,” Cullen confessed. 

Gracefully, Dorian turned and divested a passing butler of two flutes of champagne. With a fluid motion he handed one to Cullen. By now the hopefuls had slunk off to look for other prey.  _ Not so easy to catch a lion, is it? _ Dorian thought. 

The moment was perfect. Sparkling wine, beautiful music swirling around them, the sunset streaming in through the window, and they were alone. Dorian fiddled with the stem of his glass, trying to compose a toast eloquent enough to do the moment justice.  _ To love? _ No, too blunt.  _ To romance?  _ Vague.  _ To a man who I’ve come to admire greatly... _ no. He was trying to profess his love for Cullen, not toast his retirement. 

He waited too long, because Cullen sipped his wine and spoke. “So. First impressions of the ball?”

“An inauspicious beginning,” Dorian murmured, slightly crestfallen. “The Empress did herself no credit.”

Cullen frowned. “How do you mean?”

Coughing delicately, Dorian explained. “The empress’ address to the Inquisitor, to start. She stood on the upper gallery. The height differential was, of course, meant to intimidate. It backfired, though. It was comical really, Cadash already being so tiny. There was no need to tower over the dwarf. In attempting to grasp for even this little bit of advantage, she revealed instead the weakness of her position.”

Cullen blinked rapidly. “Maker’s breath, Dorian, you truly are magnificent. Is there nothing you put your hand to that isn’t a marvel?” His face shone with admiration.

Dorian's stomach flipped over. “Ah, my dear Commander. The things you say.”

“I mean it,” Cullen said, his voice earnest. “I’ve been watching you all night. This place makes my teeth itch. I hate it. But being able to see you like this has made it all worth it.”

Dorian swallowed hard. There was a lightness bubbling up inside which rapidly threatened to overwhelm him. “Cullen, I -”

Cullen held up a finger to silence him, his eyes flicking over Dorian's shoulder. “Wait. There’s a man staring at you. I’m sure of it. Don’t look.”

Dorian huffed with frustration. “Black velvet? Silver mask?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

Grinding his teeth, Dorian exhaled. “The Baron L’Ours. I met him earlier. He’s only interested in... my person, not my politics. Pay him no mind.”

Cullen chuckled. “Ah, I see. No doubt he’s trying to determine how an unsophisticated Ferelden commoner has managed to entice you away.” Cullen drew himself up, rolling his shoulders deliciously. 

Dorian smiled. “Anyone with eyes can see that, Commander. You have no idea how devastating you are, do you? No surprise you collected such a group of admirers.”

“You mean those people who were here before?” Cullen sounded skeptical. 

Dorian gave a throaty laugh and leaned closer. “Not enjoying the attention, then?”

Rolling his eyes, Cullen sighed. “Hardly. Besides,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yours is the only attention worth having.”

Dorian's heart fluttered in his chest. “Commander, you are simply delightful.”

Cullen leaned scandalously close, his lips hovering near the mage’s ear. Dorian could feel the Orlesians staring at them. Cullen pitched his voice low. “You should have a care, Dorian. That's the fourth time you’ve addressed me by that title. I’m not sure how many more times I can stand to hear you say it. Not in public, at any rate.”

Dorian turned, putting his body perpendicular to Cullen, but maintaining the proximity. “Is that so?” He sipped his drink, looking out into the room. The Baron was now openly staring at him, not even attempting to hide it.

“You know I cannot resist you,” Cullen purred. He also took a drink, not a delicate sip as Dorian had done, but a large swallow. It was marvelously uncouth, decadent. Dorian fought a shiver. Cullen laid a hand on his forearm, then whispered in his ear. “This will all be over soon. And after, I plan to make you mine. As many times, and in as many ways, as I can.” He pulled his hand away from Dorian's arm, but not before drawing his fingers down the sleeve and across the inside of his wrist. For such a chaste gesture, it was intensely erotic.

The words were on Dorian's lips:  _ You know I am yours. Always.  _ Dorian looked into Cullen's face. This was it. Dorian couldn’t decide what was worse, the quaking in his stomach or the cold sweat that had begun to pool in the small of his back. “Cullen. You... You know -”

The first bell sounded. “Maker’s breath,” Cullen swore, looking up. “Hold that thought. I must go meet Cadash.”

“Of course,” Dorian said, but Cullen was already striding away.

Disappointment wracked through Dorian as he watched the Commander leave. 

“I see I have competition,” Baron L’Ours said from just behind Dorian's shoulder. “Your Commander is a very handsome man, no?”

_ Damn _ _._ Dorian turned, finding a smile from some hidden reserves and plastering it on. “My dear Baron. We meet again.”

With a deep sigh, the Baron shook his head. “Come, Lord Pavus. Let us dance.” The Baron gestured towards the ballroom. Dorian stalled for a moment, draining his wine as cover for his actions. Shit. Dorian realized that he fumbled his handling of the Baron. He hadn’t expected this. “Are such things done here? I am but a humble mage of Tevinter,” he smiled.

“Ah, but they are. In Orlais, love is love. And a dance is but a dance,” the Baron said.

_ Like hell it is.  _ With a tilt of his head, Dorian accepted. What choice did he have? Refusing such a public request would be tantamount to social suicide. Josephine would never forgive him. Hopefully he could manage to not trod on the Baron’s feet, at least. 

***

“Well, I have to say, this is rather nicer than a tent,” Dorian said, looking around the guest chamber. It was small, but appointed with opulent furnishings. Celene had graciously offered to house the Inquisition for the evening. Small price to pay for Cadash saving her life. The Inquisitor strong-armed the three Orlesians into a truce; trust her to treat the royal court like her own personal organized crime league.  

“I’ll say.” Cullen sat on the edge of the bed and bounced the mattress to test it. 

“What on earth is that?” Dorian said, squinting up at the ceiling.

“What? What is it?” Cullen looked up in alarm.

“It’s some sort of solid surface between us and the sky above. Like a wall, but over our heads. Amazing,” Dorian marveled. “You should think about getting one.”

Cullen chucked a pillow at him. When Dorian dodged it, Cullen grabbed for him, pulling the mage to stand between his knees.

Dorian's heart was pounding in his chest. He needed to say... something. There were words, and they needed to be said. Dorian was fit to bursting with them, and he’d missed several opportunities already. The question remained, how to say it?

“Cullen, you know I’m fond of you,” Dorian began tentatively. 

“Well I certainly hope so. That would make the kissing rather awkward, otherwise,” Cullen joked. 

Dorian laughed, but inwardly he flinched. Damn. This was going to be harder than he thought. 

“Which reminds me, I brought something for us,” Cullen said, before Dorian could work up the nerve to say anything else. “Something we haven’t tried yet. I thought it might be useful in the tent, but it will work here just as well.”

“Ooh, is it naughty?” Dorian smirked.

“A bit,” Cullen conceded. He rifled through his bag for a moment and pulled out a ball gag.

_ So much for saying anything.  _

“Is this alright?” Cullen shot him a concerned look. “You talked about it before, but we don’t have to...”

“No, no, I... I just got a little excited by the possibilities, is all,” Dorian said. Ever since Emprise du Lion, he’d been fantasizing about it. The irony was a bit much, but there would be time for talking later. 

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Cullen purred. He drew Dorian in for a kiss. It was scorching, as if Cullen was trying to make up for the last week and then some. The mage was soon moaning into his mouth, his hips grinding against the Commander.

“You’d best tell me what you want now.” Cullen's voice was raspy with need. “There won’t be much opportunity in a moment.” His mouth moved on to suckle at the underside of Dorian's jaw.

Gasping, Dorian described what he’d wanted for so long. “I want to ride you. Please, I  - ah! - I want to ride your cock, Commander.”

Cullen's laugh was low. “That can be arranged. Strip. Now.”

Despite all the belts and sashes and buttons, the dress uniform was still a far sight less complicated than Dorian's normal outfit. He scrambled out of his clothes, his cock bobbing as it thickened. He watched, shivering with anticipation as Cullen also disrobed, albeit much more deliberately.

“Perhaps I need a bit more of that talented tongue before it gets locked away,” Cullen said, tracing Dorian's lips with a finger. 

Dorian sank to his knees, earning an appreciative moan from the Commander. “So perfect,” he whispered as Dorian's lips wrapped around the head of his cock and sucked downward. “That’s it. Use your hands.”

Twisting his fist around the shaft, Dorian worked at Cullen. By now he knew what the other man liked. He’d never had that experience with anyone else, the deep understanding of another person’s specific body. It was another layer of pleasure, adding to the anticipation, knowing that with a pulse of his tongue and a swirl of his thumb, Cullen would quiver and shake and call out his name softly, as he did now.

Too soon Cullen was pulling him up and then guiding him towards the bed. He opened his mouth at Cullen's command. The leather-wrapped ball didn’t look big, but it definitely felt large in his mouth. 

Cullen buckled it behind Dorian's head, and then examined his handiwork. His eyes were wide and shining, and the hand he brought up to turn Dorian's face to and fro trembled. “Maker, Dorian, you are so beautiful. I -” With a deep breath, he shook his head and smiled. “Are you comfortable?”

Dorian nodded.

“Good,” Cullen said, retrieving the oil. He laid on his side and beckoned Dorian lay down. “I think you should get yourself ready, this time. I want to watch you.”

Whimpering, Dorian did as he was told, reaching down to plunge one, then two slick fingers into himself. He felt incredibly naked and vulnerable, somehow. It wasn’t as if he’d never done this, fingered himself open before getting fucked. But usually it was hurried, something done while his mouth or other hand was occupied.

Cullen's voice washed over him. “Maker’s breath, that is gorgeous. I could watch you all day. I never get tired of seeing you like this, when you give yourself to me. Ah, Maker, I can’t stand it. I have to taste you.” Cullen leaned down and licked at the crown of Dorian's cock, lapping up the moisture that was beginning to leak from the tip.

The gag did a remarkably good job at muffling Dorian's whine. Cullen ran his lips down, kissing and sucking at the glans while Dorian's fingers corkscrewed madly. “Gentle, gentle,” Cullen laughed. “Take your time.”

Dorian breathed hard, sucking air in around the ball, holding himself back as Cullen resumed his teases. He was ready, more than ready, before Cullen finally lay on his back and allowed Dorian to straddle him. 

The sensation of sinking down on to Cullen was incredible. Dorian's eyes fluttered closed as he felt his body stretch to accommodate. When he was fully seated, he blinked his eyes open and looked down at Cullen.

“Beautiful,” Cullen whispered. “That’s it. Slow.” His hands guided Dorian's hips up and down in an excruciatingly lazy pace. 

By now the fuzzy sensation in Dorian's brain had taken firm hold. His jaw had begun to ache from the gag, grounding him, while the look of naked reverence on Cullen's face made Dorian feel as if he could fly. It was just so  good. 

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked, reaching up to wipe the tears that had gathered at the outer corner of Dorian's eyes.

With an emphatic nod, Dorian moaned his assent. 

“Good,” Cullen said. He continued to gaze up at Dorian. “I saw you dancing with the Baron, you know. You move with such grace. Small wonder he wanted you.” Something in the way Cullen's eyes were gleaming assured Dorian that the man wasn’t jealous. 

Head lolling on his shoulders, Dorian moaned. 

“Mmm, did he proposition you?” Cullen's hips pulled Dorian down with slightly more force.

Another nod.

Cullen's smirk was wicked. “He must’ve been very disappointed when you turned him down.” Cullen increased the pace, now bucking his hips upward to meet Dorian's ass as it came down.

Dorian whimpered and nodded again. He was beginning to enjoy this game very, very much.

“I sense there was more. Perhaps he wanted to join us?” Cullen brought one hand down to wrap loosely around Dorian's straining cock. 

Shuddering, Dorian moaned loudly, fucking up into Cullen's fist. 

“Well?”

Dorian hesitated. This wasn’t exactly a yes-or-no answer, and he was too befuddled to make that clear.

“Maybe he wanted to watch?” Cullen guessed.

Whimpering in relief, Dorian nodded. The sound turned into a squeal when Cullen tightened his grip.

“Maybe you’d like that, someday? Have someone watch us? Have someone see just how beautiful you are like this, gagged and moaning for me?”

Dorian's legs began to shake. He nodded quickly. 

“You like that idea. Yet you didn’t mention the Baron wanted this. Hmmm. Surely he didn’t change his mind?”

Dorian nodded, breathing hard. He was so close. So close. He leaned forward slightly, holding himself up on Cullen's chest. The pace was still maddeningly slow. He needed more.

“He thought I was jealous?” Cullen asked. “Thought I couldn’t stand the idea of sharing you, even like that?”

Dorian shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. The breath whistled around the gag; he was practically choking from frustration, physical and emotional.

Cullen dropped the hand from his cock and stilled Dorian's hips. “Dorian, open your eyes. Look at me.” 

The whimpers were continuous, rhythmic mewling noises that Dorian couldn’t seem to control. He opened his eyes, squinting with effort down at the Commander. His hips ground ever so slightly onto Cullen. 

“Something happened, didn’t it?” He reached up, unbuckling the gag. His hands smoothed Dorian's jaw. Cullen pulled him down by the back of the neck and kissed him, their lips sliding wet and open. After a moment Cullen resumed pressing his cock in and out, not full thrusts, but enough. “Tell me,” he said.

Dorian still felt fuzzy, the warm pliancy he’d come to savor. There was no prevaricating in this condition. It didn’t even occur to him that that was an option. “He saw. He saw the way I looked at you,” Dorian moaned. 

There was an moment of confusion as Cullen somehow managed to flip them both. Dorian wasn’t sure how the maneuver was managed, only that one instant he was looking down at the man and the next he was on his back, looking up.

“What did he see?” Cullen's voice shook. “What made him change his mind?”

The words were building just as the orgasm was. Both felt inevitable, as inevitable as their first kiss had been. Dorian couldn’t have avoided it even if he wanted to. 

He didn’t want to. He was done avoiding things.

Cullen was curling into him, arching and rocking and perfect. “What did he see?”

“Fuck - Cullen - he saw. That I love you. He - he saw it and he said - he didn’t want to - oh, please, please Cullen.” Dorian was clutching at Cullen's shoulders, his fingernails digging in.

“Say it again.” Cullen's gaze was focused. “Please.”

“I love you.” Dorian's voice broke. 

Cullen collapsed on to him, burying his face into the crook of Dorian's neck. His hips rolled relentlessly as Dorian's still-slick cock ground against the man’s stomach. And then neither one could control the words, Cullen repeating “please” over and over, and Dorian the words he thought he would never say to anyone. 

When the wave broke, it broke over them at the same time. It was long, very long, almost gentle, a true release as they rocked through the orgasm. It was the first time Dorian had ever come where it felt like the beginning of something, not the end.

Cullen slid out from him but maintained the embrace, his face still buried in Dorian's neck. Dorian relaxed, letting the bliss of the moment wash over him, even as the fuzziness faded away. He stroked Cullen's hair absently.  _ So this is what it’s like.  _ It was a few minutes before Dorian realized his shoulder was very wet. “Cullen?”

The Commander took a deep breath and leaned up, surreptitiously wiping at his eyes. “Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean for... I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“It was wrong. I shouldn’t have asked you that, in the condition you were in. I know you were just wrapped up in the moment. I took advantage. I’m sorry. I just....” He blinked rapidly. There was no denying it; Cullen was crying.

Cullen was  _ crying.  _

“What on  _ earth  _ are you talking about? Why are you apologizing?” Confusion threatened to crowd out all of Dorian's hard-won bliss.

“You went under. And you said... I shouldn’t have pushed you. It was wrong. I just wanted to hear -” Cullen looked up at the ceiling, breathing carefully through his mouth.

“What? You wanted to hear me say I love you?” 

“Please don’t,” Cullen whispered. “Please. I’m sorry.”

The pain in Cullen's voice was excruciating. “You don’t believe me. You think I said it just to make you happy,” Dorian realized. “Cullen, I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it. I've been trying to tell you all night. I  do  love you. You of all people should know I’m a terrible liar.” 

Seeing the despair give way to hope on Cullen's face was possibly one of the best moments of Dorian's life. “You are, actually.” Laughing weakly, Cullen sank back down, embracing Dorian. 

“Granted, I’ve never done this before, but I’ve been led to believe some reciprocation is customary,” Dorian said, trying to sound brave. 

The laughter was no longer weak. “Dorian, Dorian, I’ve loved you for so long, I forgot what it felt like before. Maker’s breath. Sometimes it feels like I’ve loved you since you fell on the doorstep at Haven.” Cullen spoke the words into his neck.

Warmth washed through Dorian. “Well, you do seem to have a preference for seeing me weak and sweaty.”

Cullen leaned up. “I’m serious,” he said. “I’ve been so scared, terrified I’d blurt it out and send you running.”

“You should try and see,” Dorian suggested.

“What?”

“Say it, and we’ll see what happens.”

“I love you?” Cullen laughed.

Dorian swiveled his eyes around. “No... nothing. No urge to run. Feel free to try again as many times as you like. I feel like I have some catching up to do.” He curled up to give Cullen a brief kiss. 

Well, it was  _ supposed  _ to be brief. Cullen chased his lips as he sank down to the pillow.

“Did that really happen? With the Baron?” Cullen said at last.

“Oh yes,” Dorian chuckled. “When he was watching us in the gallery, he decided to invite us to play, apparently. But then he saw the way I looked at you, and thought it would be too intimate.”

Cullen hummed low in his throat. “I’m glad he changed his mind.”

“Me too.” Dorian said, curling a lock of Cullen's hair around his finger. For a few moments they did nothing but lay together, breathing and nuzzling at each other. Dorian was becoming quite fond of nuzzles, he decided.

“I have to admit, this is not the way I thought this stage of our relationship would play out,” Cullen said finally, rising up on to his elbows. He rolled off the bed and dampened a cloth in the basin, handing it to Dorian, then taking one for himself.

“Me neither,” Dorian admitted. When Cullen lay back down, Dorian got comfortable, wrapping himself around Cullen and nestling into the crook of his arm. “How  did  you think this would play out? Just out of curiosity.”

Cullen's laugh was soft, shaking his chest under Dorian's cheek. “When I was being honest with myself, I thought it would never happen. I told myself over and over that I could be happy with the way things were.”

“You too? I thought that was just me.” Dorian laughed.

“Oh no. I’ve been repeating it to myself for months now. But sometimes late at night, right before I fell asleep, or if I found myself daydreaming, I’d imagine taking you to Honnleath. There’s a rickety old dock on the lake. Quite beautiful. I used to go there to get away from my siblings. One of my favorite places in the world. I thought about taking you there, telling you how I felt.”

“Sounds lovely,” Dorian murmured. “I’d like to see it. Maybe, when all this is over....” He sighed, mentally kicking himself for bringing up any mention of the fact that the world was crumbling around them. There was no guarantee there would even be a tomorrow, really. And if there were, there was certainly no guarantee that they would stay together. 

For once, his pessimism didn’t stick. For once, Dorian felt hope burning inside him, not a sputtering candle, but a steady, roaring flame. He’d never been to the lake Cullen was describing, but he could see it, the mist clinging to the water, the mountains echoing with birdsong. And not just that, he could  _ feel  _ the future stretching out in front of them, somehow allowing every possibility for them together. Perhaps in Ferelden, or perhaps in Tevinter. The idea of showing Cullen the olive groves he roamed as a child came to him, hearing the buzz of the insects in the late afternoon heat, sharing lazy kisses in the tall grass. It was completely improbable, of course. But Dorian didn’t care. Everything seemed possible, now. 

He felt Cullen kiss the top of his head, following it with his hand, stroking Dorian's hair gently. “I’d like that too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I sat on these chapters for a long time, thinking there might be more, but I'm going to end it here. I haven't ruled out the possibility for an epilogue or some more chapters in the future, but for now, this is it. Thanks to everyone for commenting and reading! Come find me [on Tumblr!](http://somanynugs.tumblr.com/)


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